The Llanfair heritage  Dragon Hearts II
by Darkenwood
Summary: Llanfair, the Pendragons' nemesis is dead and Merlin is now Camelot's Court Sorcerer. But the happy end is only the beginning of another nightmare. Camelot comes apart at the seams and some evil proves very hard to kill. No t  much  slash.
1. Trapped

**The Llanfair heritage – Dragon Hearts II**

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to my story Dragon Hearts. It is possible to follow the story line of The Llanfair Heritage without having read Dragon Hearts but it might be easier to understand some details especially of Arthur's motivation and the problems between him and his father, if one has read the first story.

I hope you'll enjoy the new story whether you've read the first one or not.

Please R&R

**1. Trapped**

Ever since he had been brought here, whenever that had been, he had searched for a way to escape but he hadn't found one. He had felt his way around the pitch dark room but only found seamless stone walls. Despite his best attempts to feel strong, confident and in control as befitted a powerful warlock the young man felt miserable. Without the slightest idea where he was, who had abducted him or to what purpose, he admitted to himself that he was scared by now. Very scared.

It was the unnatural silence of this place that unnerved him most, even more than the fact that he was hungry and more than a little bit thirsty by now. Surely even in the deepest dungeon one should hear _something_. Voices or someone knocking against the wall or at least one or two guards patrolling outside or…..well, something! Instead this place - windowless and obviously without any identifiable entrance - was also soundless.

The wizard shivered in the cold dampness of his prison. Once again he tried to use his magic, at least to get some warmth and some light to this dreadful place, but again it was to no avail. This feeling, as if he ran against a soft but unrelenting wall every time he tried to use his magic abilities – he didn't want to admit it, but he had experienced something like that before. The walls of Blackrock Castle, Llanfair's stronghold – as long as the old Count had been alive they had been magically shielded too. During his attempts to penetrate them they had felt exactly as these walls felt now.

This situation, this place were a better memento of the late Count Arwan of Llanfair than any sepulchral stone. The apprehension and dread the young sorcerer now felt weren't that different from what Arthur Pendragon had experienced as Arwan's prisoner.

"The old Count is dead and so is his unnatural power" the warlock tried to calm himself. "I was _there,_ I saw him die. I was _there_ when it happened. I paralysed the monster; otherwise he'd never been killed. He's _dead_! He died a year ago." But unfortunately his senses told him a completely different truth.

With a sinking heart he just sat helplessly in the dark and waited. For what, he didn't know. Slowly but surely the double fear he felt for himself and for his royal friend began to eat away the last remainder of Merlin's courage. He curled up against the wall and began to shake, his wide, terrified eyes staring uselessly into the silent darkness.

Where had this nightmare begun? What had been the wrong turn from which they had taken one doomed path after another?

While the hours ticked away slowly and terrifyingly Merlin started to think back to what had happened after they had first returned from Blackrock to Camelot. Almost a year ago.


	2. Unhappily ever after

**The Llanfair heritage – Dragon Hearts II**

**2. Unhappily ever after**

12 months earlier the Pendragons' triumphant return to Camelot should have been a perfect Happy End. But trust the royal house of Camelot to spoil it.

"Under no circumstances you will marry a servant girl and that's final!" King Uther's voice echoed from the walls of his spacious study.

His son's reply was quieter but full of defiance and something coming close to real enmity. "And if I were to disobey you, then what? Would it be your dungeon for me or once again somebody else's?"

Merlin saw this vicious remark hit its intended mark in Uther's heart and wished he had a spell ready to crouch into the wall in his back.

"Arthur, I…." Other than he had always thought the young warlock found it terrible to see the King stammer and search for words. "It's not that I _want_ to hurt you but as things are I…_we_ can't afford to offend our few remaining friends right now."

Uther held up some documents he took from his desk. "Six offers to enter marriage negotiations have arrived since it became known that you are back home, one from Olaf's Court and one from Alined's as well as four others from some of the biggest earldoms in Albion. They're meant as a friendly gesture. Now what would become of this friendship if you were to decline these high born Ladies for a _handmaiden_?"

Arthur had a fitting repartee on his tongue but Merlin could see that he managed to bite it back. Just. Instead the Prince shook his head. "Father, please do be reasonable. Olaf doesn't mean it anyway. He'd never part with his precious Vivian and surely he wouldn't expect you to allow me to live at _his_ Court. As for Alined's cousin, she's thirty years my senior. Good heavens, I think she's almost as old as you. Last time I saw her she called me a sweet little tom."

Uther chuckled against his will. "You _were_ a sweet little tom as I remember it. It was Beltane and you wore a very cute cat's costume."

"Yes, I was ten years old and I hated every minute of this feast."

"I bet after that, one would have needed a battalion of guard soldiers to force you into wearing _anything_ cute" Merlin thought, very relieved that the tone had lightened.

"And as for the other offers" Arthur continued, trying his utmost to sound as conciliatory as possible, "they are either from our own barons or from nobles who are liegemen of another Crown. To accept them would mean much trouble for us in the long run. Surely you can't want that!"

"I didn't say I was seriously thinking of accepting one of these, I said we have to think very carefully about the reasons we give when we decline them" Uther explained with exaggerated patience as if his by now 23 years old son was an imbecile. "And one of the reasons they would never accept is that the Crown Prince of Camelot cannot marry a Princess because he wants to cuddle some servant girl not only outside but also inside the royal marriage bed!"

Pale with barely controlled wrath Arthur stared at his father. Uther met the hostile gaze briefly but then he looked away. The times in which he had been able to stare his son down had certainly passed.

The Prince inhaled deeply and straightened his shoulders. "I guess there is nothing more to say" he murmured. "At least nothing we wouldn't regret later on." He turned towards the door, waving at the young warlock to follow him. Merlin almost jumped at the opportunity to leave this awful quarrel behind.

"Merlin stays!" Uther commanded. "I have need of him!"

The wizard looked helplessly from one Pendragon to the other and pondered to become invisible.

"Fine then" Arthur said after a second. "As soon as you are finished conspiring with him you could let me know that he's available again, if this isn't too much to ask."

Merlin watched the Prince leave and felt miserable. "What does Your Majesty wish?" he asked, somewhat sourly. Arthur would make him pay for that later, whether it was Merlin's fault or not.

"Oh, sulking, are we? You are more eager to run after the Prince than to stay with the King, is that it?"

Merlin looked up, directly into the blue-grey eyes which always _seeme__d _so cold. Both, King and magician, thought of the time in which such a thing as Arthur's manservant and the King of Camelot facing each other eye-to-eye had been unthinkable. But then this had been before an unwitting but criminal careless Uther had handed over his son to a madman.

Arwan Count of Llanfair had dragged the young Prince through a living hell. Nobody in Camelot had had any hope left that Arthur could ever be freed from Llanfair's stronghold Blackrock Castle. There was no doubt whatsoever that without Merlin's and the Druids' help Uther would have perished, knowing that he himself had sentenced his son to a lifetime in slavery.

True enough, Uther had kept his side of the bargain. The ban on magic had been lifted and the Druids were no longer persecuted. Merlin and Gaius had been allowed back into Camelot. With Uther's authority severely weakened and Camelot still suffering from the losses in territory, revenue and money she had sacrificed in the vain hope to ransom Arthur out of Blackrock's dungeons, Merlin had found more than one opportunity in which the Pendragons had welcomed a little unofficial support from the first sorcerer the King had learnt to trust in more than twenty years.

"Since when do you object that I and your son are friends?" Merlin now asked boldly. To let UtherPendragon see how intimidating he still was for the warlock would be a foolish thing to do.

To the wizard's surprise the King gave up his authoritative pose and sat down heavily on the nearest chair. "Actually I have to rely on this friendship more than I would ever care to admit if I had a choice" he said wearily. "I fear I have lost my son. Now I need _you_ to help me at least keep the heir to Camelot's Crown or all I ever did will come to nothing."

As always when this impregnable fortress of pride, authority and strong will showed a shred of human weakness, Merlin's easily impressed, compassionate heart went out to the man. Sometimes more so than it reasonably should, considering that the magician's first loyalty was – and always would be – with the son, not with the father.

"I don't think you have lost him. Maybe it's a little bit ….difficult to talk to Arthur but you still mean the world to him. Of that I am sure."

"And why is it, oh almighty warlock, that I can no longer speak with my own son properly? What do you think?"

Merlin swallowed nervously. "You _never_ spoke to him properly. You just gave orders and he had to obey. I think you can't order him around like that anymore. He still loves you but he no longer _fears_ you. After what he has been through there isn't much left he _could_ be afraid of. Nothing can be worse than what he has already suffered as Llanfair's prisoner. And….and…perhaps…"

"Perhaps _what_?" It was hard to decide whether Uther was enraged or fascinated.

With increasing apprehension Merlin continued. "Perhaps it would be easier to keep the heir apparent if you would think of him as your _son_ more often. I mean….what I want to say is… as your _son_ loves Guinivere more than his own life why can't you forget what is befitting the _Crown Prince_?" There. He had said it.

Uther grinned humourlessly. "And if anybody objects or starts a conspiracy I could rely on you to transform him into a poodle? Do you think it's as easy as that?"

"Gaius also says…" Merlin shot back heatedly, only to bite his lip in mid-sentence. Oh-oh.

"And what does my Court Physician prescribe for the malady my relationship with the Prince is suffering from? And come to think of it, why would Gaius think he is entitled to discuss _my _private affairs with _you_?"

"Ground, please open up and swallow me" Merlin thought and he was lucky that his magic wasn't listening.

"Well, first of all, you seem to do it all the time these days and second, Gaius is your friend, he always has been. And third, he thinks that the marriage should take place as soon as possible. And Geoffrey thinks so too!"

The last remark baffled Uther thoroughly. Why would his Lord Privy Seal, the old shrewd politician, support this erroneous idea? "Well, if Geoffrey thinks this to be a good idea I will discuss the marriage with him."

Merlin didn't believe that he had heard correctly. Trust this man to surprise you, again and again. "Can I go now?" he asked hopefully.

"Off you run" Uther said. "And don't forget to tell his most sulking Highness that he is to attend tonight's dinner. Doubtlessly our baron guests have come to snivel for something they could use to their advantage at our expense and I intend to teach them otherwise, most kindly. For the duration of this happy event I expect my son's support, sulking or not."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Merlin hurried to the door.

"And tell Geoffrey that I want to see him at once, in here"

"Of course, Your Majesty!" The warlock took the door handle now.

"And don't forget that I want to see _you_ tonight in the hall, too. It'll give the barons something to agonize over. Rumours about you are flying all over Albion by now, I reckon. Let Arthur think about where to put you. Gives him something to do."

"He'll be beside himself with joy, Your Majesty!" Merlin opened the door.

"And _Mer_lin, one last thing!" The wizard's shoulders fell while he turned round. "Yes?"

Uther smiled most friendly into the wary dark blue eyes.

"You might want to take a few moments to think if a King is hindered to put a most insolent and disrespectful young man into the stocks only because this young man has some magical abilities!"

"I certainly will, Your Majesty."

Merlin muttered angrily under his breath on his way to Arthur's rooms but only _after _he had left the King's study for good. Old habits die hard.


	3. Geoffrey's plan

**The Llanfair heritage – Dragon Hearts II**

**3. Geoffrey's plan**

Geoffrey watched his royal master's restless pacing with the patience only many years of constant practice can create.

"I still don't see the merit in a marriage of Camelot's Crown Prince to this, this…." Uther snapped his fingers impatiently.

"Guinivere, Your Grace" Geoffrey offered.

"Yes, yes, yes, Gwenifar. I admit she took some troubles on the Pendragons' behalf…."

"Very true Your Majesty. She risked her life more than once for the Prince. And there is still the small matter of you throwing her into the dungeons to ensure His Highness'….shall we call it cooperation? Besides, you had her father executed for using magic some time ago and one _might _doubt the adequacy of the punishment!"

"Did I?" Uther couldn't remember anything of this.

"You did, My Lord. The Lady Morgana was most enraged and made no secret of her feelings when she spoke to you about it."

"That's the first thing I hear of it!" Of this the King was sure.

"How comforting to know that Your Majesty wasn't troubled by it when everybody else in Camelot Castle had no choice but to hear every word Her Ladyship yel…. said."

"Anyway, this isn't the point now" Uther said. "I do not doubt this …. girl's entitlement to some kind of reward but _marriage_ with my son? What would the other royal houses say to such an outrage? Or our own barons?"

"Who gives a crap?" Geoffrey said as cool as you please. "If a Pendragon wants to marry he'll marry. When and how and whom he chooses, even if nobody else can. _Especially_ if nobody else can."

With an effort the King restrained from poking his ears. "_What_ did you say?"

Geoffrey sighed. "Your Majesty has been tiptoeing around the aristocracy and the other Kingdoms since you first have had the wind in your face. You have hoped to make amends for what the notables had seen as a blunder on your side, a significant sign of weakness. But you will not fight this off by showing even more weakness. You say Prince Arthur's choice for a future Queen of Camelot is a slap into the faces of nobility. And I say His Highness is giving you a tremendous chance. Take it, stop the pussy-footing, slap them and do it now!"

"But where is the chance in this; a chance which outweighs the risks?"

Now the old advisor was in his element. "Primo, it would be the sign of strength and independence which is long overdue. Secundo, it would give you an opportunity to differentiate those nobles who are loyal to you from those who aren't. To safeguard your realm the Crown needs an heir and to rule the country this heir will need some loyal liegemen. This means, every person who opposes this marriage does so at the peril of forfeiting his fiefdom. You could give the cashiered estates to men whose loyalty will form a reliable power basis for Prince Arthur when he takes the Crown."

Geoffrey took a moment to breathe and to assess his King's reaction but Uther kept silent. Therefore the old man decided to go for broke. "And tertio it is absolutely essential for you to do something to regain the Crown Prince's affection and trust. His Highness has already been approached repeatedly by those who would like nothing better than to see him heading a rebellion against you!"

Not for the life of his Uther would have admitted how much this last statement hurt him. He kept his voice as indifferent as possible, but his words betrayed him nevertheless. "So you have been spying on my son? You thought that necessary? You believe Arthur would be willing to conspire with these nobles against me?"

The secretary cleared his throat nervously. "No, Your Grace, of course not. And I didn't spy on the Prince! However, it came to my attention that your son doesn't know where to turn. It is possible that he turns to some false friends, with disastrous consequences. The Crown Prince's loyalty to you must be above even the slightest doubt or he might become a living pawn again, a hostage, but this time he wouldn't even know it."

Uther looked definitely crestfallen when another painful thought struck him. There was another young man he had begun to take nearer to his heart, if only as a means to close the gap between father and son. "Does Merlin know about this?"

To the King's surprise Geoffrey smiled fondly. "Our young sorcerer does not have and most probably never will have a head for politics but his loyalty is beyond question. It was him who brought the matter to Gaius' attention and Gaius came to me. Otherwise I would not have known that your son's trust is …wavering! Did you really tell him that he was no use to the realm as her Prince anyway?"

Uther felt his knees wobble. "I guess I did" he said very softly and Geoffrey couldn't remember that he had ever seen UtherPendragon blush with shame before. "I had hoped Arthur might have forgotten my...slip of the tongue, considering what happened afterwards!"

Geoffrey briefly closed his eyes in despair. "To be completely honest Your Majesty, I do not think there's much of a chance that Prince Arthur will ever forget these words."

"So it is this marriage or nothing?"

"I'm afraid so, Your Grace. May I suggest that I could draft the letters with which we could decline the other offers!"

Uther rubbed his eyes but then he straightened his shoulders. "Make it so!" he said. "But I would like to warn you as well as your clerks. I will need some time to think this over before I decide on the matter finally and if anybody breathes a word of this to a living soul, especially to my son, before I do it'll cost him his head, is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Your Majesty!" Geoffrey bowed, untroubled by the blunt warning he had just received. There were people at the Court of Camelot who thought – and had always thought – that, as much as Uther _loved_ his son, the King _needed_ his advisor even more. So the chief advisor was safer in his position than even the King's only child. Geoffrey, who had a genuine and heartfelt affection for Arthur, was among the people who thought so and it had given him many a sleepless night over the years.

He searched for something to lighten the mood, knowing that father and son would have another most troublesome encounter on this very evening. And he found it.

"There is another detail I should bring to Your Majesty's attention" he said.

"What is it?"

"As to our young warlock's reaction to the disgusting boot-licking some of the nobles attempted in order to undermine your son's loyalty... Did Your Majesty know that our friend Merlin took it upon himself to transform the two men who annoyed Prince Arthur most into a very handsome pair of poodles for a whole day? Naturally His Highness doesn't know that. At least officially."

Geoffrey left the study and felt very satisfied with himself when he heard Uther's laughter through the door while he turned around the corridor's corner.


	4. Some wounds don't heal easily

**The Llanfair heritage – Dragon Hearts II**

**4. Some wounds don't heal easily**

Tentatively Merlin opened the door to Arthur's rooms. His heart sank when he found his friend staring out of the window with an angry frown.

With a small glint of hope he hurried to the window and looked out. Maybe something in the court yard would explain the threatening face. Nope! No such luck! Must still be the quarrel with Uther then.

"Arthur? I'm back!"

"Is that so? How will the King ever cope without you?"

"Now come on, that's not fair! This wasn't my choice!"

Other than Merlin had expected Arthur backed down. "All right, all right, I'm sorry."

"Would you say that again, please?"

"What?"

"That you are sorry! I mean, I am just a poor underpaid manservant and all rare things are valuable and as an apology from you is one of the rarest things on earth I just thought...!"

"_Mer_lin!"

"Now that's more like it" the wizard thought relieved while he watched the Prince chuckle. But then he spoiled it. "How come you're here, Sire? I thought you'd be with Guinivere right now, after all you can't stay the night with her because of the grand dinner the King is giving."

Arthur darted around as if he had been bitten by something. "Why should I be with Guinivere? To tell her that my father is willing to accept her as my whore but not as my wife? And for this dinner, they can all rot in hell before I go there!"

Never before had the wizard seen his royal friend that threatening, at least not towards his friends. To others, yes, but not to Merlin. Inwardly the magician sighed with relief when the Prince hit his fist against the wall and turned away in obvious frustration. It took Merlin some effort to overcome his apprehension but then he put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. It startled him to feel it shake under the padded jacket.

"What is it? Arthur? Why do you feel so strongly about this dinner? You have daydreamed yourself through your father's state occasions before. What's so special now?"

"The guests" Arthur said. Not for the first time since their close escape from Blackrock Castle Merlin saw him wrap his arms around his body as if he wanted to shield himself from something that lurked in the darkness of his memories.

"The guests! Oh well that explains it. Surely nobody could expect the Crown Prince to attend a dinner at which _guests_ are present!"

"I have attended a dinner they graced with their presence before" Arthur said very softly, lost in memories. "They came to Blackrock special, for the spectacle of a Crown Prince serving at Llanfair's table. He had me chained and my hands were shackled. I could work, but I couldn't fight, not when I was forced to my knees, not when he slapped my face, not when he..." Arthur rubbed his throat as if something disgusting was creeping over his skin. "Must have been noble to behold though, as Cendred's assembled nobility enjoyed themselves that much."

Merlin felt a chill run down his spine. "Does your father know that tonight's guests are the same people who..."

Arthur nodded. "I am sure that this is exactly why he is so anxious I attend. He thinks I'll have to brave it out any road, so why not now? Only this time I can't. I used to think that I could face anything; brave out anything because that's the way he wanted me to be. I know he still wants it but I can no longer deliver. So he will cast me away soon enough."

Merlin was terribly frightened by the words as well as by the flat tone in which they were spoken. "He would never cast you away. He _loves_ you! What do you take him for?"

"I take him for the man who sent me into Llanfair's hell hole to teach me a lesson in humility. Now he can't complain of getting what he wanted."

"What do you mean by that? You can't really think he _knew_ what was going to happen? You didn't have a clue either. Or do you want me to believe you really thought he'd hurt Gwen if you had tried to escape on the journey to Blackrock?"

Arthur turned around and fully faced his incredulous friend. "When my father told me that he'd let her suffer if I offered any resistance I believed every word he said. Why should I have doubted his threat to be genuine? Gaius has been tortured by my father's orders and so have you."

"I thought you and your father had made it up" Merlin said very meekly. The reminder of his spell in Camelot's rarely used torture chamber had been most unwelcome. He had almost succeeded in repressing the memory.

Pendragon shrugged helplessly. "I thought so too. I _wanted_ to believe that we are truly reconciled. But somehow...When I see him I always think of the day he told me I was to go away. That I was a traitor, a dead loss as a Prince and as a son. That he'd prefer to see me as Llanfair's slave over forgiving me. I keep thinking what he will do next time we don't see eye to eye in anything. To me, to Guinivere, or to you."

"Arthur, this is nonsense! Twice he offered his own life in exchange for yours. When you thought that I was going to sacrifice his life in order to save yours you wanted to kill me. You told me so yourself. Now you can't make me believe he doesn't mean anything to you?"

The Prince ran his five fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Look, Merlin I don't really understand this myself. When I thought he was going to die I was more desperate than ever before in my life. But now we are back home, save. He just wants to go back to normal and I can't do that. And I can't stay here. I am going away and Guinivere will come with me, with or without my father's consent. Question is, will you?"

Merlin paled at the thought of what this could mean for his friend. Arthur was going to throw away his whole future, the great destiny which was his birthright. If he ran now in the dead of night neither he nor his father would ever as much as think of reconciliation. This time the breach would be final.

"Where would you want to go?" he asked hesitatingly. "I mean, who would take us in, except for using you to his own ends or turning you in, hoping for a reward from Uther?"

Arthur smiled a bit, despite the sick feeling in his stomach that had hardly left him since he had come home. "Don't worry, I am not thinking of leaving Camelot altogether, I just think my father and I need a break. I'll go to Blanchefleur Manor. You and Gaius would like it there; it's Druid country and I guess they will be back, now that they are no longer persecuted. If Gaius would like to come too, that is."

"It's in the border region?" Merlin asked incredulously. "But that makes it part of Antek of Llanfair's new estate. You persuaded Uther to give it to him after he had lost Blackrock and King Cendred had cashiered his fiefdom and outlawed him."

"And that's exactly why I think we could live there for a while without my father's always watchful eyes following my every move. Antek is my friend, as good as you."

"Arthur, you're nuts. Antek is a dumb ass and a coward. He just stood by when his father put you through the wringer; and who was the one who forced you into servitude? Oh yes, now I remember, it was young Antek."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't there at the time, Antek only tried to…."

"But I _was_ there at the time, that's what you can't get into this thick head of yours" Merlin yelled angrily. "I saw and heard it all, I heard him lying to you, blackmailing you until you gave in to his demands because he had left you no other choice. You have a rare definition of what friendship might mean, My Lord!"

With considerable effort, Arthur refrained from answering to that with his fists. Or with a severe punishment. Sometimes it was much too easy for a superior to end an argument that way. He had learned that the hard way. The very hard way. Count Anwar had been in the habit of keeping his captive gagged for days for one defiant word. "Let's not argue, Merlin. My decision is made. My father will no longer rule my life. Things will never again be as they have been before. It's no use to pretend otherwise."

"You know I'll come with you wherever you go." Merlin said. "That goes without saying. But you know…."

"What?"

"If you don't attend this vexed dinner, your father will have your hide before you can do anything. The King will go nuts if you don't come to the Great Hall tonight."

"All right, all right, I'll come and I'll try my very best not to strangle any one of these creatures, if that is fine with you. Okay?"

Secretly the King admired his son for his composure when the very men who had seen him in his deepest humiliation now bowed and sucked up to him; trying their utmost to pretend that Arthur's captivity in Blackrock had never happened. The King had often been proud of his son but never as proud as on that evening.

As for Arthur, he was going through purgatory. When the inevitable final handshakes were due, he almost vomited. Immediately after his father had dismissed him the Prince ran upstairs and scrubbed his hands and arms, then his entire body frantically. But even then he thought he'd still feel the grease and stench of the men's touch on his skin.

Merlin had seen it coming all evening but finally he only stood and watched his friend, not knowing what to say or do.

The King, however, went to bed smiling, blissfully ignorant of what his casual decision 'to get it over with' had caused. So it came to pass that Uther thought he had all the time in the world to think Geoffrey's plans over carefully.

A week later the news of Arthur's secret wedding ceremony with Guinivere knocked the feet off under Uther's body. By the time he realized that Arthur had no intention of returning to Camelot but had led his entourage towards the border regions, shying away from a final confrontation with his father, it was too late for anything.


	5. Exile

**5. Exile**

Arthur Pendragon stirred in his sleep; then he woke up with a scream of terror and anger, sweat covering his body and all his muscles tensed. Once again he felt rough, merciless hands on his body while Llanfair's dark, strong-boned face looked down on him. He had been taken back to Blackrock's stately chambers which had formed part of his imprisonment for many hopeless months.

"Arthur? What is it? Arthur, don't you recognize me? Wake up."

Slowly Pendragon's vision cleared and his surroundings stopped spinning. Breathing rapidly he looked into a pair of large green eyes in a very handsome honey-skinned face under an unruly mane of lustrous jet-black hair.

As soon as Antek of Llanfair saw that his royal friend had snapped out of the nightmare's aftermath he smiled in his lopsided way which always reminded Arthur of a very special goofy grin that belonged to a pair of equally friendly and careless dark-blue eyes.

"Sire, are you all right?" Sir Leon, Arthur's commander of his small escort at Blanchfleur Manor entered the room unannounced, sword ready to slay every dragon that might be hiding under the Prince's seat.

Arthur raised his hands in mocked surrender and laughed. "I am fine, Sir Leon. I am sorry that our tomfoolery disturbed you."

With an angry frown the knight sheathed his blade. To him the screams had sounded pretty seriously. "If you want to retire, Your Highness, perhaps Count Llanfair wants to go to his own rooms now?" he asked gruffly.

"Count Llanfair intends nothing of the kind" Antek replied in the same unfriendly tone of voice. "But you can leave us now. This is my house and if I want to retire, I'll notify my own servants properly, thank you very much."

Leon ignored the young noble completely, his eyes never leaving Arthur's face. "Sire?"

"It's all right, Sir Leon, I promise, we won't be long. Please sent Merlin up to me, will you?" With secret relief Arthur saw his guard commander bow before he left the room, not without a last suspicious look at Llanfair's derisive smile

"I must say Your Royal Highness, if that's what you are like after two glasses of brandy you must have been be a handful for your gentle lady to deal with after one of King Uther's prolonged dinner parties!" Antek laughed the last remaining awkwardness away.

As always when together with Antek, the Prince felt his mood lighten under the irresistible urge to return the light-hearted smile. "It has been four glasses and it's completely your fault if she will have my head tomorrow. You forced me into this! Admit it; you want to present me to her with a terrible hangover, to put a wrong complexion on me!"

"Touché" Antek replied. "Your Highness is very clear sighted. At least sometimes."

The Prince gave the young Count a rueful smile. "You should have raised me once you saw that I had dozed off. I feel like a tottering old geezer, falling asleep like that. What have you done all this time?"

"Spied on your most private affairs, of course" Antek answered. "Given signals to the robbers and rascals I keep hidden in the brushwood that you Camelotians are ready to be slaughtered in your sleep. Oh, yes, and I have worked out a strategy to seduce your wife. It's all in a day's work. I _am_ a Llanfair, you know. We're evil!"

Looking at Arthur's dumbfounded face, Antek laughed out loud. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but it's only what your friends are thinking of me. Leon, Merlin, even old Gaius, each and every one of them, down to the most humble soldier or servant – they all think that I have taken you in for one reason only - to finish what my father has started. They'll never forgive me for luring you into the sinister trap of Blanchefleur Manor."

The Prince frowned at that and swung his legs from the divan he had been resting on. "If you have such insights in the thoughts of my men; maybe you could tell me where else we should have gone when my father went nuts."

"I know that Merlin would have preferred his Druid friends, for a start. And Leon is of the same mind, because of his Druid wife Mirella. And even I must say it would have been a logical choice. They aren't forced to ask your father's leave for anything and they would have welcomed you."

"I'm not so sure about that" Arthur said musingly. "Arenboarth doesn't welcome the idea of a warrior staying with his pacifistic, gods-fearing people. Whether it would be Leon or me – the Lord Druid doesn't differentiate between knights and Princes. Besides…" Arthur poured himself another brandy "Merlin is persona non grata for Arenboarth and that will never change."

Antek shrugged dismissively. "You could have left him behind in Camelot. Or sent him back to his village. Whatever."

It wasn't the first time that Arthur felt awkward and uncomfortable with the way Antek spoke of the young warlock. As if he was speaking of an animal. And not a pet animal, at that. "It was impossible to leave him behind" he said with more verve than he had originally intended. "First of all, neither I nor Guinivere wanted to leave without him and second, if Merlin had stayed behind my father would have had the guts cut out of him for sheer spite."

"Come, come, Arthur, that's a gross exaggeration." Antek virtually pouted now. "King Uther would have done nothing of the kind. Your father values a good advisor. When I met him over the question of the money and the territories Camelot had ransomed for your release, your sorcerer friend was standing behind him, blowing one vicious idea after another into his ear. It cost me dearly, your friend's talking, it really did."

This hit a nerve in the Pendragon Prince. "Antek, if this about money, I know I burdened you with many an additional mouth to feed when I came here, but you said…."

Antek raised his hands in a soothing gesture. "Let it rest, Arthur. I tend to forget what I owe you. It must have been difficult for King Uther to agree with your plans. Tto install me, of all people, as governor of the border regions after King Cendred had ruined me over his 'compensations' for the loss of Blackrock and the new tensions between him and your father."

"Nonetheless" the Prince replied "I know the governorship is no real substitute for the Llanfair estate, not even for Blackrock alone. The governor of the border territories neither has the revenue nor the independence you would have had as Count of Llanfair and since me and my people have been burdening your purse for almost seven months now…."

"Forget about it, will you? If you insist on making this an arithmetical problem, even a small income is better than nothing. My beloved King, Cendred the Greedy, had left me broke, as you may remember. He just waited until I had given back the ransom to your father and my troops had pulled out of the border regions, then he held _me_ responsible for the loss to _his_ coffers, just because in theory all that's mine belonged to him as my liege."

Arthur shrugged. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd never survived your father's kind administrations to me. So let's just say were even, shall we?" The Prince gulped down the rest of his brandy. "I think I'll turn in now, or else my wife _will_ have my head for neglecting her so. Good night, and thanks for the night cap."

"Good night, my Prince." Antek made a little show of bowing and scraping to Arthur. "Sweet dreams!"

Pendragon laughed and left the room, the broad smile still on his face when his eyes fell on Merlin. "What are you standing here in the dark?" Didn't Leon tell you that I wanted you to come here?"

"Actually he did" the warlock replied stubbornly. "But I had no wish to see your so called friend."

With an impatient moan Arthur slapped his sorcerer friend between the shoulder blades and pushed him forwards. The Prince kept his voice low but his anger was hard to miss nonetheless. "We are his _guests_, is that so difficult to comprehend, for the Gods' sake? I owe him a debt of gratitude. And besides, he doesn't like you either."

"_You_ are nobody's guest as long as we are on Camelot territory!" Merlin had no intention of keeping his words unheard. "This house belongs to you as much as any other estate your father handed out as a fiefdom and that's a fact. If you ask me, the dumb ass owes _you _every penny he has got_._ And more."

Arthur rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "Technically speaking, you are absolutely right. But there's more to the relationship between a liege and his liegemen than these legal formalities. Fact is that Antek is in a very difficult position between me and my father, so could you and the others at least _try_ to show our host some courtesy from time to time?"

"What about his courtesy to us?" Merlin was in no mood to give up that easily. "You heard what he said about me; as did I when I arrived in front of the door. The same applies to Leon, Mirella, Gaius and the others. We could all go and rot for all he cares."

"Damn it Merlin, you destroyed his home. You crushed Blackrock to dust when you killed his father. Have you thought of that?"

"In _your_ service Your Royal Highness! Have _you_ thought of _that_?" Merlin's aggravated voice rang from the walls.

"Merlin, please keep your voice down. And for the last time, I have no intention of taking sides here. You are both my friends, you are both grown up men and you will do your best to go along with Antek of Llanfair, _**Now. Is. That. Clear**_**?**

"Yes, My Lord." There was a certain point with Arthur beyond which opposing him wasn't the wisest thing to do. Master sorcerer and continuous saviour or no, Merlin knew that point quite well by now.

"Don't you 'My Lord' me, my boy" the Prince gnarled angrily. "One more word against our host and you are in for a long vacation in Ealdor. A _very_ long vacation, understood?"

Merlin grumbled some inaudible words to himself.

"I _said_, is that understood?" Arthur insisted.

"And I _say_ you're still the same old prat" Merlin refused the craved submission despite his better judgement. "How could you tell him that you did not know where else to go? It almost sounded as if you were throwing yourself at his mercy! You are the _Crown Prince_, for heaven's sake!"

By now they had reached the door to Arthur's room. The Prince just opened his mouth for another heated reply when Guinivere suddenly appeared in the door frame. "Are you going to argue the whole night?" she asked sleepily. "You two can be heard throughout the house I shouldn't wonder."

Arthur cast an angry look at his friend, "look what you've done" written all over his face.

At once Merlin's face became a display of remorse. Guiltily he looked at her unmistakably protruding belly under the nightgown. Gaius had made it more than clear that this pregnancy was not to be taken lightly. Everybody knew that she would have to rough it when her time came, everybody except Arthur, of course. Guinivere sometimes complained of her husband's over-protectiveness as it was.

"I'm sorry, Gwen" the warlock said. "You're right, it's late. I think I turn in now, too. Good night." One thing was as sure as rain: Neither warlock nor Crown Princess would ever agree to letting go of "Gwen" for the preposterous "My Lady" or "Your Grace". Arthur, who stubbornly insisted on the use of her title for his wife wherever they came, hadn't even tried to insist on it when it came to Merlin addressing her. As naturally as the use of the title had come to Gaius, Leon, the soldiers, even to Mirella - it would always be "Merlin" and "Gwen" between these two, no matter what.

Without a further word or look at his royal friend Merlin made his exit and Arthur felt scolded and left behind despite himself. Sighing angrily he led his wife back into their bedchamber. "Would you believe it?" he said while undressing. "They are like young dogs, these two, always at each other's throat. If I were a woman I'd say they're both in the grip of the green eyed monster."

Guinivere had no reason to ask whom he was talking about. "It doesn't need a woman for a man to become jealous of another" she said mockingly. "Sometimes real friendship is enough. Friendship or need, that is."

"_Need_?"

"Arthur, Merlin is your friend; there is no doubt about that. Count Antek has chosen the needs of his estate, his people and himself over you when you were his father's prisoner and he would most certainly do so again, if the necessity arose. But presently he needs you and your favour. Back then he could not afford to get on his father's wrong side, not even to save you from torture and now he can't afford to get on your wrong side. That means you aren't equals and inequality is no basis for friendship."

"Have you been talking to Gaius again? I thought the two of you would have more than enough talking to do about my son."

As always the casual certainty of getting "his son" rattled her. "Personally I would prefer to give birth to _our_ daughter" she said. "And I did not know that you consider me an imbecile. I do not need to talk to Gaius to see some obvious facts. Antek rivals with your best friend because he considers Merlin a personal enemy as well as a competitor for your affection. And believe me; our host intends to gain something out of your sense of obligation to him. As for Merlin, he can't accept that you should mistake rank opportunism for real affection, the kind he feels for you. He feels degraded by your fondness for Antek."

From her choice of words Arthur could see that she had been on the lexicon again, as was her habit in order to 'improve' herself. She still felt nervous around nobility and the lexicon was one of her ways of coping with her apprehension of his peers. Naturally, after almost eight months of marriage he was a much too experienced husband to tease her with that right now.

"I'd say that 'rank opportunism' is somewhat of an exaggeration" he said instead, most kindly. "Besides, what would you suggest? Going back to Camelot?"

"Yes" she simply stated. "That's exactly what I would suggest. At least it would be better than giving young Antek the impression that you depend on him."

Arthur stood stunned. "You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not. I'm perfectly serious."

"Then you are indeed an imbecile" he burst out. "We can't go back. My father…"

"Your father isn't half the villain you want to see in him" she said heatedly. "At least not anymore. Do you really think we could have stayed here for months, unmolested and in some luxury as I may add, without Uther's consent and support? For Leon, Mirella and most of all Merlin it was natural to choose you over the King but did you seriously assume that Gaius would have stayed if Uther had called him back?"

"What do you mean, my father's 'support'?" Arthur said, his face pale with suppressed rage.

"I've seen it by chance" Gwen replied. "When I posted my first letter to your father, I saw the messenger handing a parcel of documents to Antek's secretary. It sported the royal seal of Camelot but it wasn't addressed to you. I went with the secretary into his office, asked him for some special parchment and while he searched for it, I flipped through the letters in the folder he had laid the new parcel on. Bills, Arthur, our bills, paid by your father."

The thoughts ran havoc in her husband's mind and as he found no way to sort them out fast enough he went into a mental defensive stand. For the warrior he was this meant taking the offensive. And keeping it.

"You are corresponding with my father behind my back?"

"Yes" she said defiantly. "I wrote to him about my pregnancy. A man should know that his first grandchild is under way. He's happy, by the way. Very happy."

"Is he indeed. Now that's a change in His Majesty's tune. I'd never have thought he'd be happy about a child from the woman he hardly thought suitable to be my concubine."

"_Arthur_!"

"Your Ladyship will forgive me, but I am not very tired anymore. Good night." With that he grabbed his things and left; banging the door shut hard enough to make the walls tremble, leaving her behind gobsmacked.

Beside himself with anger and hurt at a double (or triple? Who had known of this secret correspondence and money transfers?) Arthur made it to the stables and pulled out a horse. Ten minutes later he galloped through the Blanchefleur gates at top speed. Nothing better than a hard ride through the meadows to clear one's head.

He was just out of sight of Blanchefleur's guards when reality caught up with him. This wasn't Camelot castle; this was a citadel in the border countries which had been a battlefield for years. With five glasses of brandy in his stomach and his head full of anger and tumbling thoughts he saw the highwaymen only when they were at him and the unfamiliar horse under his saddle panicked.

The mare reared up under him, than she sprang forward, buckling and kicking with her hind legs. The combination of movements dismounted her rider and Arthur found himself rolling over the ground, directly to one of his attackers' feet. Winded and shaken, Arthur needed a moment to get to his sword. For once, he wasn't fast enough. The man pressed his own blade against his victim's throat and kicked the Prince's weapon from his hand.

"Get up" he said. "Nice and slowly."

While Arthur rose, silently cursing himself, the sword point never left his throat. Finally the two others had calmed down the horse and made it back to their buddy and his prey.

"Now let's see what we have here" the leader said. "Search him."

Arthur flinched when the second man touched him. "Hold it" the leader said, raising his blade a bit more. What had been meant as an additional threat gave the Prince a perfect opportunity to make good on his former idiocy. Quickly he elbowed the second man in the stomach, pulling back from the first one's blade at the same time. As he had expected, the leader continued his former movement; rising his blade even higher for an assault on the throat from above instead of lowering it for an attack on the body.

Pendragon dived under the man's arm while he grabbed his wrist and twisted violently. With a yelp the bandit let go of his weapon, allowing Arthur to use his forward momentum to get behind the man's back, twisting the bandit's arm even further in the process.

When the second man's blade, finally drawn after it had been sheathed in order to hold on to the fighting horse, aimed for Arthur's chest the Prince turned somewhat and the blade cut through the leader's heart, got stuck between the bones of the man's chest and was wrenched from the second bandit's hand.

Pendragon pushed the dying man to the side and went for the leader's sword on the ground. He beat the second man to it by the split of a second. While Arthur was still rising, the blade found its way into the attacker's throat.

Panting Arthur withdrew the weapon from the bandit's neck and turned towards the third man, silently wondering why on earth he hadn't intervened at all so far.

His gaze fell on a gawping boy, frozen stiff in fear and awe, holding on to the horse's bridle as if for dear life. His eyes wide and uncomprehending and his legs trembling visibly he was as threatening as a new born beagle puppy.

"Oh dear" the Prince said. "Whatever am I to do with you?"


	6. Bridging the unbridgeable

**6. Bridging the unbridgeable**

Uther crumbled the parchment he held in his hands and absentmindedly pondered that, as much as he would have liked getting a letter _from_ his son, he detested getting letters _about_ him. Old Count Anwar of Llanfair had taken care of that. Full realization of what he had read came to the King a moment later.

"Sir Gawain" he roared which made the present commander of the royal guard virtually jump into the office. "You and an escort of eight will accompany me on a journey" Uther ordered. "Get ready!"

"When My Lord?" the knight asked in confusion for this made all of Uther's former orders obsolete. At the same time Geoffrey complained from the other side of the room. "But Your Majesty, your urgent appointments….the grand assembly of the full Council…"

"Yesterday, if you please" the King barked at Sir Gawain before he turned to his secretary. "Cancel them! I have more urgent business to attend to in Blanchefleur."

Geoffrey's face lightened up immediately. "The letter is from His Highness then?" he asked eagerly.

"No" the King growled. "It's from Merlin. Apparently my daughter in law has had some kind of a shock after my most august son had done something foolish. She went into labour and things didn't go all too well. When Merlin wrote this, Gaius had just taken care of her."

The secretary's face fell. He remembered Queen Igraine's death as if it had happened yesterday. So would Uther of course. And most of all, Igraine's child, as Arthur's birth had caused his mother's passing.

"But that must have been almost two weeks ago" Geoffrey said. "Whatever has happened, you will not be able to change it."

"For a warlock there are other than the normal ways to transport a message" Uther said while he feverishly sorted some documents on his desk without even looking at them. Geoffrey sighed inwardly at the thought of how long it would take to undo the mess the King was causing to his meticulous filing system.

"Actually this happened yesterday morning" Uther continued. "But you are right of course. As I am not a magician's letter I will need two weeks before I reach Blanchefleur.

As it was, it took him nine days which cost the entourage three horses and Sir Gawain the last of his nerves. The knight spontaneously sent a quick silent prayer to the Great Mother when they trotted through the manor's gates.

As was his duty as governor Antek awaited his liege on the front stair together with his officials and notables. He was more than a bit ruffled when Uther send them all packing with a few harsh words. The King was not in the mood for some friendly small talk and official reports. Right now the border countries with each and every one in them could go to hell for all he cared. "Where's my son?" Uther snapped at the young Count without as much as a 'good day'.

"He's upstairs, Sire. The physician insisted on him finding some rest."

"Is Gaius available?" the King asked.

Antek, who misread the implications of this question completely, almost snorted. Imagine the King of Camelot snuffing his whole staff as well as the governor himself, only to ask whether a commoner, a mere servant, might be 'available' to his master.

He's with Guinivere and the child" Antek said. "I'll show you the way."

Uther stopped in midstride. He had had an awful lot of time to prepare for the moment in which he would have to clarify his final attitude on his son's marriage and this occasion was as good as any. "If you refer to Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess of Camelot I'd advise you to do so properly in the future. For now I think a servant will suffice to lead the way. You are dismissed!"

One step later Uther had completely forgotten about Antek of Llanfair. The young Count, however, wouldn't forget this encounter until the day he died.

The King inhaled deeply before he opened the door. Gaius rose from the chair at the bedside, his face beaming with a radiant smile. "Your Grace! I had not thought you could make it that fast."

Through the semi-transparent bed-curtains Uther saw a female figure resting under the covers. "Is she….?"

"She's fine now" Gaius calmed him. "But she's had a very rough time which was why I wanted Merlin to call for you as fast as possible. It meant so much to her that you should be glad about her having Arthur's child."

"And the baby?"

"A fine, strong boy" Gaius said. "It would have been easier for her if he hadn't been that big, but you Pendragons have always been a strong boned lot, even Arthur, for all he's inherited his _mother's_ finer looks." The physician bent down and lifted the child from the cradle.

Fascinated, almost dumbfounded Uther looked at his grandson. "He comes entirely after his mother" he said without thinking. It sounded more than a bit disappointed. Obviously the King had expected to see no less than his own image reborn in the child. Or at least Arthur's.

Gaius, who knew the special Pendragon blend of vanity and sense of entitlement, sighed inwardly. "Wait and see" he said when he saw that the child was about to wake up.

Uther gasped a bit in surprise when the little Pendragon finally opened his eyes. The contrast between the dark honey skin and the sky blue irises was striking. "Naturally the eyes can still change" Gaius said. "They often do in babies. But somehow I think these will stay with the little one. If they do, there's no doubt from whom he's got them."

The old healer used the opportunity and laid the boy in Uther's arms. All of a sudden the King found himself with more than a handful of young human being. To his surprise he also found that he had missed the feeling. "Dear me, he's really big. How could that be with a child that has been born prematurely?"

"Who said something about him being born prematurely? His mother carried him full term."

"But I thought….it's not even been eight months since their wedding."

Gaius closed his eyes. Oh, Uther! "And it didn't occur to Your Majesty that your son might have had a reason when he pressed for your permission for this marriage with some urgency?"

"How should I have thought of that? Nobody tells me anything these days." Satisfied that he had washed his hands of anything with this perfectly logical explanation Uther continued, virtually smirking from one ear to the other. "So the young saint some people think I have for a son wasn't above some moonlight courting, eh? Somewhat of a dark horse after all, His Royal Highness!"

This did it. Gaius lost his patience. "May I remind you that they travelled home together from Arenboarth's camp? Your daughter in law had thought, indeed we all had thought, that none of us would ever see Arthur again, at least not alive. So much for moonlight courting, Your Grace."

"How is it that everybody is so short tempered nowadays…" Uther began but he was interrupted by the little boy in his arms remembering his missing dinner. Gaius called for the wet nurse and handed the child over to her.

"Shouldn't his mother nourish him?" the King asked fractiously. "I've never been much of a believer in wet nurses."

"How unfortunate that your _only_ child had to be brought up by one. To my certain knowledge it didn't do him any harm." Gaius said acidly. "But maybe we could discuss this in the other room. The young Lady here needs her rest."

Once safely behind closed doors Gaius turned towards his King somewhat exasperatedly. "Uther, I've told you she's had a very rough time. She will not nourish little Thomas and the child will have no siblings, except if Arthur, the Gods forbid, should ever turn to another woman. Do I make myself clear?"

"_That_ rough?" Uther swallowed hard. For a moment he imagined his son standing at his wife's death bed. Like he had done when Arthur's mother had died. Then he distracted himself by some other thoughts. "Little _Thomas_, you say? Not exactly a Pendragon name!"

"No" Gaius replied. "It was the name of Guinivere's father. Arthur thought that, as the child's family name would be yours, his first name might be taken from the other side of the family. Besides, for some reasons beyond human understanding, your son found that one Uther Pendragon in a family line is more than enough."

All of a sudden Uther remembered that he had been responsible for the death of Guinivere's father. He dropped the uncomfortable subject immediately. "I take it Arthur's injuries weren't that serious?" the King said instead.

"A few scratches and some bruises, mostly from the fall off the horse. He finished two of the bandits off, singlehandedly as I've been told. The third one was no threat at all, a mere boy who had jelly knees before Arthur even came for him." Gaius washed his hands in a basin in the corner. "Didn't do the wretch any good, though" he continued. "Antek had him executed while Arthur was with his wife, as she had gone into labour this very night, a short while after his return."

"That was swift justice" the King said awkwardly. "And while the Crown Prince was in the house, if otherwise occupied? Peculiar definition of the proper protocol of the governorship I must say. It would have been for Arthur to decide on the lad's fate. Didn't he protest afterwards?"

Gaius shrugged. "I think I heard him and Antek quarrel a few days ago. Some hard words about bills and someone else's money. And about the hasty execution. But Antek apparently could redeem himself; there's no sign that Arthur bears him any grudges. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing" Uther said hastily. "Imagine my son falling from a horse. I think last time he lost control over his mount he was but seven years old and the mare was too big for him."

"Actually I was five and you had spooked the damn horse" Arthur said from the door. How long he had been standing there and how much of the conversation he had heard only Gaius would know, as he had been the one who had faced the door in Uther's back.

If Gaius had not known his King for almost a lifetime he would have sworn that Uther was nervous, if not scared when he turned to face his son.

"Arthur!"

"Father!"

Gaius watched the two bullheads and shook his head. For now he would have to be content that it hadn't been 'Your Grace' or 'Sire' from Arthur's side. With a silent nod at the Prince he left father and son alone, keeping his fingers crossed.

The healer left an awkward silence behind. Finally Arthur was the one who broke it. "Shall we go to the gardens?"

"Shouldn't somebody stay with your wife?"

The Prince raised his brow in surprise at the unexpected consideration. "Merlin might never be much of a doctor but he is more than capable to take care of her should she awake. Gaius will be back immediately." For the first time Arthur's face showed at least the touch of a smile. "But she'd have my hide if I left you stranded, now that you are here. She wanted so much to present our son to you."

"He's a very fine boy, little Thomas" Uther said tentatively on their way down. "You can both be proud of him."

"We are." Not a word more. Down the stairs, through the hall, through another corridor and the garden gate. Still nothing.

Finally Uther couldn't stand it anymore. "Arthur I know I haven't been the most considerate of persons when it comes to your marriage but this can't go on. If you can't find it in you to forgive me, there's still so much to be done. Your marriage, the acknowledgement of your child, your wife's investment as Crown Princess – it _has_ to be settled. And soon."

"So now you are willing to get this done" Arthur said with bitter irony lacing his voice. "Thank heaven the little one is a healthy boy. Gives you some hope, doesn't he, even if his mother is a lowly servant girl, after I have been such a dead loss to you and Camelot!"

Uther stopped in mid stride. So this was it again. These idiotic, rash words, once spoken in blind anger and meant to hurt in this very second and then no more, had caused so much more damage than he had ever intended. A moment's foolishness and it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Be reasonable Arthur, what's done is done. I never meant it in the first place. We were both mad at the time. Fact is that you must come back. There simply is no other choice. Rumours are flying all over Albion that we have fallen out with each other for good. Unrest spreads and every single malcontent claims to be acting on your behalf or at least in your interest. The realm is virtually coming apart at the seams. You have your duty to Camelot to consider!"

"I have a very good idea of what you regard as my duty to Camelot nowadays, Your Grace" Arthur replied acidly. "You do not want me back, you want to keep up appearances and most of all you want a second chance. The chance for a fresh start that Guinivere and I have provided you with. You do not want your son, you want your grandchild. The boy's parents are a necessary evil to you, nothing more."

For a second Uther thought the physical pain this false accusation caused him would be enough to pass out. He fought for breath while something in his chest cramped viciously.

"Arthur I've told you once that you mean much more to me than my kingdom, my crown and definitely much more than my own life. I meant it back then and I mean it today. But there's no time for this now. You must realize that the man who has got you has got Camelot. It was hard enough to convince the Crown Council to grant the governorship to Antek. But nobody, absolutely nobody can even begin to comprehend why you broke off with your father and liege only to willingly run to young Llanfair, of all people, the son of the man who dragged you through hell and back."

"Why shouldn't I forgive Antek the ruse he used to save my _life_? My wife has forgiven you for killing her father as well as for using her as a hostage against me. Merlin has forgiven you for sentencing him to death and torturing him. As has Gaius. Apparently the Druids have forgiven you for seriously trying to extinguish their kind." Arthur's whole demeanour spoke of another issue. That _he_ had no intention of forgiving his father.

Uther's spirits faltered with every word from his son. Whatever devil had possessed him the day he had decided to send Arthur to old Llanfair's Blackrock stronghold might well have been the ruin of his life.

"Some minutes ago you said Guinivere would have your hide if you left me stranded. That she would welcome me here." The King knew he sounded like a whining, fractious child and he hated himself for it.

Besides, it had been the wrong thing to say to a young man who thought he'd tried his best to come to a reconciliation that others had talked him into while he himself was far from sure whether he wanted it or not. But when he had thought that his beloved wife was going to die he had promised her everything.

"Don't you dare use my wife against me; you have no right to hide behind her. You were the one who did not accept her; you had her father killed. You don't deserve her loyalty, you never did."

The King took a few deep breaths to calm down. How, from where he and his son had once started, had they ever reached this conversation?

"Do not punish yourself or your son for my sins, Arthur. No matter how you look at it, there's nothing else for it but to come back home with me, at least for a few months, to silence those who are spreading false rumours. My son, please, I beg of you, to not throw away everything we have ever worked for because I am a dead loss as a father!"

Breathless now by apprehension, Uther cut himself short. He had fired his last shot. If his son had any common sense left he'd know that his father would never come closer to an outright apology for his stupidity than he had come right now.

For a moment Uther thought that he had won. A shadow of uncertainty flickered over Arthur's face. "I still don't see why you can't destroy these idiotic rumours on your own" the Prince said. "After all, the fact that you came here and visited us and the child should be proof enough that we aren't enemies. Why can't you tell anyone that I've simply set up my own household and be done with it?"

"For the Gods' sake Arthur are you daft? Your own household in _Llanfair's_ house, three hours away from Cendred's borders, five or six at most from the big estates of some of my most unreliable barons and their private armies? In Camelot they speak of treason and they mean you and you staying here. I've tolerated this nonsense long enough now. You are coming back with me and that's final."

Whatever understanding and empathy of his father's predicaments had touched Arthur before was now gone. That tone of voice he was familiar with; had been familiar with all his life and he had set his mind on never being bullied by it again. "Then I would suggest that Your Majesty gives order to clasp me in irons" he said viciously "as you have done before. For I swear to you and to any God who may hear me now, I will not set foot into Camelot again as long as you are King. If you want to force me you'll have to drag me and I swear I will fight you every step of the way."

There was no need to mention the consequences of such an act. To bring the Crown Prince in as a prisoner after all what had happened before was an impossibility. If the estranged Prince in his voluntary exile made a good figurehead for every rebellious soul in the realm, the helpless prisoner of an unbelievably cruel father would be a perfect one. Sooner or later this would end Uther's reign in shame and they both knew it.

They stared at each other, both pale with cold wrath, no longer a father and a son, but the present and the future ruler, two rivals. It was what the courtiers in Camelot had once called the Dragons' fight. Back then the older beast had been in the lone position of power. Uther looked at his heir and knew that these times had passed. He had threatened what he would not, indeed could not, make good on. For once his reach had exceeded his grasp.

"There's nothing more to be said then" the King said hoarsely. "With your permission I will see your wife and child once more before I leave tomorrow at noon. After all it was Guinivere who first invited me to come here."

To his surprise the Prince did not exactly enjoy seeing his father crestfallen and humiliated. For a second Arthur bit his lip in sudden embarrassment. "My wife is master of her own time. If she invited you then she will see you" he said more rudely than he had intended before he turned and left the older Pendragon standing where he was without another word.

Uther watched his son vanishing inside the house while his thoughts were racing through his mind. He knew he had lost more than a battle; he had lost a war. It was a feeling he hadn't known for decades. The King of Camelot was used to victory, not to defeat. However, he also knew the 101 of politics by heart. If one couldn't fight anymore one had to negotiate. If one's enemy refused to speak face to face one needed a mediator. How very convenient that Arthur Pendragon always came with the perfect mediator, free of charge.

Merlin! Uther would just have to talk with Merlin and everything would come out all right in the end, as if done by magic.

After all, for what else did one keep a Court Sorcerer around?

Deeply satisfied with his stout reasoning and shrewd scheming Uther began his search for the young magician.

But things never turn out the way one expects them to.

Even while the Pendragon King roamed the manor house disaster mounted fast horses and made its way towards Blanchefleur.

Meanwhile the little dove that had brought the message of Uther's arrival to its owner placidly picked its grain.


	7. Friend or foe?

**7.****Friend or foe**

Next day's noontime saw the King of Camelot and his entourage on horseback. Furtively Uter's eyes scanned the house's main entrance, then the vast row of windows on the first floor. Nobody was to be seen except for the governor, his staff and, of course, Merlin, who said good bye to Gaius.

So either his son had given order to not heed the departure or Leon, Mirella and the others took their lead from their master. The King muttered something inaudible to himself and took up the bridle when he heard a yelp of distinctively unpleasant surprise from the young warlock. Looking up Uther saw his daughter in law staggering down the stairs, the child tucked in a bundle in her arms.

"Guinivere, for heaven's sake!" She flinched as the four voices of an equally aghast Uther, Antek, Gaius and Merlin reached her all at once. As he stood closest, Llanfair was the first to reach and support her.

The young woman had barely reached the end of the stairs when the three others caught up with her. "Little Thomas wanted to say good bye to his grandfather" she said. "Besides, I think, he already loves horses. Must have got that from his father."

Uther looked at the big war horses behind him. "Don't you dare go anyway near these brutes before you are old enough my boy" he growled at the bundle in Gwen's arms. "Some Princes have spend too much time with them and the horses' stupidity rubbed off on them."

Guinivere decided to let that go uncommented. "Arthur told me you would come to see me and the child before you left, Sire. But you never came."

"I changed my mind" Uther said, after a short gaze at Merlin. "I thought it might do no good, to come between you and my son. Things are….messy enough as they are."

"If you had been as considerate before, My Lord, things wouldn't have come to that state" Gaius muttered angrily, causing an equally angry sigh from his King.

"Gaius, if you think that you are still needed here, we can easily…."

"No, Sire" the physician interrupted him brusquely. "There is no reason why my dear colleague Mercator should not be perfectly capable of looking after Her Grace and the child. And I _do_ think that _you_ need me much more right now!"

The King gulped that down unopposed but with a visible effort and turned back to the child. "Good bye, little Thomas" he said. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. You take good care of your mother." He merely nodded at Guinivere for a good bye. He had seen something stir behind the columns of the entrance. Or rather, someone.

"Merlin, see to it that Her Highness reaches her room safely, will you?" Uther said and the warlock nodded. While he passed him by, Uther added a short, whispered "and don't forget that I rely on you, my boy" before the King went back to his horse.

Merlin rolled his eyes to the sky and sighed while he helped Guinivere up the stairs. In their backs Antek and his notables gave their last formal farewells before the cavalcade rode off.

"Merlin, let go of my arm" Guinivere said laughingly. "You're almost dislocating my shoulder."

"Sorry."

She looked at his face and decided that peevishness wasn't very becoming to these usually merry and friendly features. "So it was you who advised the King to avoid me."

He flushed with embarrassment and nodded. "Arthur was _that_ put off after their last talk, I thought…..Not that your husband had said anything against you receiving Uther but….I mean…as it looked…..I mean, the way _he_ looked….."

"You thought I'd make a much better intermediary for your upcoming negotiations with His most stubborn Highness on Uther's behalf if I were to stay in my husband's good graces!" she stated, still with a very amused smile.

Merlin snorted a short laugh of his own and nodded. "Is it that obvious?"

"I don't think you stand much chance for a surprise attack. Only last night Arthur and I wondered who it might be Uther would use as an emissary. I said it would be Gaius and Arthur said it would be you, for you lacked the speed and the responsiveness to jump out of the way in time. The King would roll over you like a carriage with six spooked horses before you'd even know it. Apparently he was right."

"Ain't I always?" Arthur said from behind. "I know my friends inside out. Even the most mysterious, magical, camouflaged chameleons among them."

"I'm an open book!" Merlin stated, successfully hiding that the sneak attack had once more completely surprised him. How _did_ Arthur manage this sneaking thing?

"You've said that before, while you were still posing as a meek and somewhat idiotic, clumsy manservant" the Prince replied. "Instead of the mighty and somewhat idiotic, clumsy sorcerer you really are."

"Yeah" Merlin said. "And you said you wouldn't believe that for a moment!"

"See?" Arthur said to his wife. "Even back then I knew he was hiding something from all of us. He always had this shifty look about him."

"Yes, dear" Guinivere replied lightly. "We all know how very clever you are. Mostly because you're telling us so constantly."

"See, Merlin? She's evil. You're lucky it wasn't you who fell in love with her."

"But I did" the warlock replied. "She just never noticed."

"In that case I can no longer allow that you hold her hand. Would you please return my wife to me?"

"By all means, Sire!" With a deep bow Merlin passed Guinivere's hand to her husband. "With all the family drama we already have, doubtlessly providing entertainment for all the nosy gossipers and self-styled political augurs of Albion, we wouldn't want to additionally burden ourselves with a case of murder out of jealousy!"

Arthur halted, his left foot still in the air. He put it down conscientiously and inhaled deeply before he turned to his friend. "I do beg your pardon?"

Merlin tried to steal the Prince's thunder before it could roll all over him. Which it most certainly would anyway. The warlock smiled as goofily as possible and shrugged. "Thought I'd better give my mediation a head start. Get it over with so to say…..Hey, whoa, what _are_ you doing…." he yelped when Arthur's hand grabbed him by his neckerchief and twisted it. "Merlin, I do not care what promises my father blackmailed or flattered or bought out of you, I do not care what heart breaking stories he's told you and most of all I do not…I repeat NOT..care for your pitiful attempts at mediation between him and me**. NOW. IS. THAT. CLEAR?**

"Yep! Perfectly. Chrystal clear. Absolutely, completely and abundantly clear, Sire."

"Very well then. Let's not talk about it again."

"No. Never. Not one word. Although one might come to think that not all of this mess is your father's fault, he…."

"MERLIN!"

Guinivere saw the wizard recoil from her husband a bit and laid her hand on Arthur's arm. "I think we've both got your point, sweetheart." She looked down at her little son whose eyes were wide. Whether with fascination or trepidation was hard to tell. "Come to think of it, all t_hree _of us have got your point."

"You're in league with him, aren't you" Arthur said exasperatedly. "My own wife! And my own servant. I'm surrounded by enemies. Is everyone on my father's side now?'"

All of a sudden Guinivere became very serious. "You should not seek your enemies in the wrong places, Arthur. Nor your friends."

Her husband let his shoulders fall and raised his hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I give up. I had planned this as a surprise but as you leave me no choice, I can tell you now. By the laws of Camelot the Crown Prince is entitled, on his marriage, to have his own household in his own house. One of my ancestors must have thought this being supportive to the production of healthy heirs to the throne, I think. So I'm going to send word to my father, asking him to assign a suitable residence to us and that's that. Now are you content?"

Actually, Merlin wasn't, he liked living in the royal castle, but Guinivere was in seventh heaven. They would leave Blanchefleur and, most of all, Antek, but they would not live among the people who were used to know her as a servant girl. She wasn't ashamed of her former life but she wasn't looking forward to people's gossiping either. Or to her husband's foreseeable reaction, should the gossip reach his ears.

Arthur found his wife hanging on his neck in an enthusiastic embrace and thought that he should have mentioned this idea earlier. _Much _earlier.

"Does Antek know about this?" Trust Merlin to spoil a perfect moment.

"No, not yet" Arthur replied. "He invited me to a hunt this night. I will tell him then." The Prince looked at Merlin's renewed smile and shook his head. "And no, you will have no opportunity to see his face when I tell him. You will stay in, with Guinivere, Leon and the others, have a nice, snug, cosy evening as far away from Antek of Llanfair as possible."

Only in the last moment Merlin avoided the pout Arthur had been expecting to see. "Fine. You go to the damp and cold of the forest at night, killing poor helpless animals. I have much better things to do." His head erect and his chin lifted, Merlin left them standing, for once sure that he had had a perfect exit.

"You should not tease him like that, sweetheart" Gwen said. "You know he can't stand to leave you out of his sight."

"Yes, he treats me as if I was an invalid" Arthur said angrily. "Come to think of it, everyone does. A child or what am I to you all?"

"Precious" she said earnestly. "Very precious." She pushed him a bit. "But if your Royal Highness feels a bit overprotected right now, do what the warlock prescribed. Go and kill a few hapless rabbits. We'll manage perfectly well without you, thank you very much!"

Most haughtily she wafted away, leaving her husband stranded and speechless. Married life sometimes was much more complicated than he had thought.

Grumpily mumbling to himself Arthur packed his gear and stuff some hours later. Really, he was surrounded by human mimosas. Leon had been _that_ huffed when he had heard that he wasn't invited to the hunt, that Arthur hadn't even asked him to help with the preparations. That Merlin would be miraculously unavailable had been clear from the start.

The Prince sighed, thinking of the times when each and everyone had been at his beck and call. Naturally, there was something to it, having friends and a spouse who were his equals, who cared for _him_, not for His Highness the Crown Prince, but nevertheless, sometimes being in command had its advantages, too.

What _was_ it with people ever since he had come back from Blackrock Castle? When they looked at Arthur Pendragon, all they could see was the helpless prisoner, someone who needed protection everywhere and from everything, someone fragile – someone _weak_!

It had to stop. He would not allow old Anwar of Llanfair to destroy his former prisoner's life from his grave. He would be master in his own house soon, no father, no council, no host to consider. No pussy-footing, no restricting gratitude, nothing but his _fr__eedom_, finally. He was no child any more, and most certainly he wasn't _weak_!

Arthur looked down at his bag and found that he had ripped off two straps, one buckle as well as torn one corner of the seam. How on earth had that happened? He frowned angrily at the offensive item but then he shrugged casually. It would do for now and that was all that mattered.

Whistling softly he marched down to the yard where Antek's hunting party was already waiting. "About time, Sire" the young Count laughed. "I thought your gentle Lady might have kept you to herself."

Arthur felt his own spirits lift and his lips come to smile without his doing. Antek and his good mood. They were irresistible. They'd always be.

Many times during the following hours Arthur tried to launch into telling his host about his intentions of leaving but he couldn't bring himself to say it in the end. When they finally made camp for the rest of the night a few hours' ride away from Blanchefleur Manor, he still hadn't said anything.

They all turned in early, as they had planned to go for another stalk at dawn. Arthur tossed around sleeplessly, suddenly unsure whether leaving Blanchefleur really was such a great idea.

The road they crossed to get to the other side of the forest was the one that led south, and finally to Camelot. By sheer coincidence Arthur was the first to reach it and his blood froze. Pieces or armoury, weapons and clothing were scattered all over the place. He spotted the all too familiar red-golden banners even before he saw the first corpse.

With brutal clarity Arthur saw that he was looking at his father's escort. Or what was left of it. It took a while to realize it, though. His eyes saw it faster than his mind was willing to accept it. Dead. They were all dead, their blood covered the dust of the road. There was no doubt that their pack horses had been led away. Bodies and equipment had been stripped of everything valuable.

Scavengers. Bandits. A bunch of vultures had overwhelmed them. Had slain them like he and Antek had planned to slay some animals to fill the kitchen pots of Blanchefleur.

"Please no" Pendragon thought numbly. "Please, this can't have been the last time I saw him. Not like that. Not in anger. We can't have parted like that for good."

Dread and apprehension kept him on his horse, as if a refusal to see the body could change what had happened. The animal trotted on however, to the centre of the slaughterhouse scene, as if it hoped to find something of interest there. When one of the lifeless bundles in the dust moved and groaned amidst the rubble, Arthur was suddenly out of the saddle in the blink of an eye.

"Gaius" the Prince said as he recognized the old healer. "Dear Gods, what have those filthy pigs done to you?"

Gaius muttered something inaudible. Although it visibly pained him he didn't stop, He strained to make himself heard until Arthur bent down to him and pricked his ears, hoping to calm the wounded man by listening to him.

After a while Gaius lost consciousness, his head still resting in his Prince's hands. Arthur knew that the young Count of Llanfair and his men had closed up to him, that he was completely surrounded. He didn't look up. He knew too well what he would see.

"Why, Antek?" he asked quietly. "Why?"

For a moment Llanfair kept silent, as if he hadn't heard.

"For Blackrock'" he finally said. "Isn't it obvious? Without King Cendred's support I'll never rebuild it. Remember what I once told you, back in the forest, when I was busting my ass to save yours? Before you knocked me down and ran back into my crazy father's bloody claws, begging him to tear you apart and all for the sake of this other lunatic, murderous beast, King Uther?"

Indeed, Arthur did remember. All too well now, that it didn't matter any more. Now that things could no longer be changed. Now, when it was too late.

"_Frankly, I give a damn for Camelot and her future._ _My priorities are clear. I want to keep my estate and its people save. __And I want to keep the Llanfair rule as independent as possible from Cendred, Uther or any other predator, royal or otherwise_."

With sudden, almost painful disgust Arthur recalled that Antek had clumsily laid his hand on the Prince's shoulder. "_Forgive me, my __friend, I know you still think the world of Uther, but it's __you__ I care about. Come to think of it, my estate's chances are ten times better with you being King than with your father on the__ throne of Camelot_."

"Apparently your chances for an enduring peace with Camelot weren't that important to you after all" Arthur stated bitterly.

"You're wrong. They were. You were not supposed to know that I had betrayed your father to King Cendred" Antek replied. "The plan was for you to hear about this attack much later, from me. I do not know why Cendred's men have been so foolish as to stage the attack _that_ close to Blanchefleur. But if the old man had not been left behind to spill the beans, you and I would still be friends. To hell with both our fathers!"

The Prince just shook his head wearily and Antek sighed. "Now that it can't be helped any more I see no reason why your healer friend should die in this bloody mess for nothing. Please, pass your weapons to Sir Malcolm and get on your horse. Let's take Gaius to Merco as soon as possible, shall we?"

Llanfair urged his horse a bit closer to his counterpart. "Please, Arthur, be reasonable. Don't force me to have you trussed up, the way my father liked so much. With your family and friends still back in Blanchefleur, what options do you have?"

Suddenly Arthur was almost overcome with exhaustion, as if the disappointment had drained all strength from his body. He just nodded once more and tossed his blades to the waiting Llanfair knight. Nobody helped him when he lifted Gaius to his saddle before he mounted himself. But nobody hindered him either.

Silently they rode on as fast as Gaius' state would allow. Idiotically, Arthur found that he dreaded the return to Blanchefleur more than he had dreaded the return to Blackrock after he had given up his only chance of escape by knocking Antek from his horse. Back then he had thought he had to give himself up to save his father's life, now he would go to a hopeless situation his own naiveté and stupid stubbornness had brought about. And his foolishness would bring captivity not only to him but to others too. Guinivere, the child, Merlin...Merlin...the sorcerer who had destroyed Blackrock castle, who had laid waste to Antek's home...

"Merlin is next on your list, isn't he?" The Prince raised his head and looked into Llanfair's eyes. What he was hoping to find there not even he himself would have known. Compassion? Reassurance that all would be fine in the end? That this was just another nightmare?

Instead he found confirmation even before Antek began to speak. "There is no 'next', Arthur. Leon, his wife and your men are safely locked up and your friend Merlin has been taken the moment we left Blanchefleur yesterday. That was the reason I wanted to have you out of the way in the first place. I had planned to tell you that he had been called away by his Druid friends but since you know anyway..." He shrugged with somewhat forced indifference. "I'm sorry but I am not a mythical saviour of the world. I don't have Noah's Ark at my disposal. My boat is much smaller. Blackrock, the Llanfair rule, you, your wife and child – and it risks capsizing as it is. All the others can go to hell for all I care."

Antek spurred his horse and took the lead of their small group. For the rest of the way Arthur had no other chance to speak to him. Antek's men, the friendly hunting companions, had become very diligent guards and the young count took care that they were always between him and the Pendragon Prince.

As soon as the gates of Blanchefleur had been closed behind them Llanfair shouted some orders at his men and made haste to vanish inside the house. The Prince ignored his guards and carried Gaius to the infirmary where a horribly embarrassed Mercator took care of his old colleague.

"What's the news, Merco?"Arthur asked anxiously, half of his mind fretting about being here instead of running off to make sure that Guinivere and Thomas were indeed safe, the other half stuck with the desperate wish to get some answers. "Will he be all right?"

"I think he will be fine in a week or two" the Llanfair healer muttered. "Most of the blood wasn't his. He has a bad concussion, though. But his cranium seems to be intact and I dare say his overall condition justifies a certain degree of hope for a full recovery in time."

Arthur almost smiled, in spite of his misery. He had liked Merco's ponderous way of speaking from the very start of their acquaintance. The physician might look like an old, senile weasel but besides Gaius he was the wisest and kindest man Arthur had ever met in his life. But for his selfless help and support, the Prince had never survived the old Count's tender mercy.

"Thanks, Merco" Pendragon said, when the healer finally decided that they should make Gaius as comfortable as possible, to let him have some rest. "I'm indebted to you. Again."

For a moment Mercator watched the young Prince tending to the patient before he hesitatingly raised his gaze. "You haven't unlearnt much of what I taught you" he said. "I should have thought you'd have forgotten everything of your time in Blackrock as fast as you could. You Pendragons never had much luck in your dealings with the Llanfairs."

Arthur jumped right on the cue. "I'd never thought Antek would betray me like that. I still can't believe it."

"I wouldn't think that he actually betrayed _you_. As for your father, Antek never considered himself to be his liegeman any road. He gave his oath to King Cendred first and this oath he has kept. It wasn't easy for him to swear a mocked oath of allegiance to Camelot, but King Cendred thought he'd never have a better opportunity to plant a spy in Uther's closest circle, like a louse in a fur you might say."

"So you knew all the time what was afoot. You knew that Cendred and Antek were playing my sense of obligation and my friendship to get at my father's throat."

"Don't you tell me that there's still much love wasted between you and your father. We all heard you yelling at each other." Merco avoided Arthur's eyes but his face had an expression of stubborn defiance. "Antek went at great length to persuade Cendred to guarantee your safety. And frankly, that was all I cared for, too. You're not the only one who has a sense of obligation, you know? All of Llanfair is obliged to you for the horrible things the old Count has done for no fault of yours. But as for your father – King Cendred has more than one just cause against him."

"Merco, I..." Arthur began to say but the physician cut him short.

"And when all is said and done, Your Highness, Antek is my lord and liege, not you or Camelot. For more than twenty years your father had Lucius spying on our every move and I had considered him a close friend too. So don't you tell me Antek's methods are too harsh."

"What about Merlin? He's two years my junior. What has he to do with the 'just causes' Cendred may or may not have against King Uther? From where he stands it's all in the past and best forgotten."

"Arthur, are you really that naïve? Your sorcerer friend didn't exactly endear himself to me or the others when he let our home crumble to dust over our heads. Hundreds of us Llanfair men and women have lost all their earthly possessions when your little magician decided that the stronghold had to go, just like that. Cendred ordered our dissemination all over the Kingdom. Families were torn apart. Who knows whether we will ever see each other again, even if Antek should succeed in getting his liege back and rebuilding Blackrock."

"So Antek had him killed. I brought Merlin here, ordered him against his will and better judgement to come with me and now he's dead."

With a sigh Merco let go of the linnen and bandages he had been sorting to keep his hands and eyes busy and finally looked at Arthur. "You have a gift for torturing yourself. Haven't you got enemies enough to do that for you? Merlin himself told me once that you _asked_ him to come with you, not ordered him. And second, he's not dead."

That made the Prince jump to attention. "Then what..."

"There were some people who offered Antek a King's ransom for some items the old Count left to his son, as long as the stuff would come to them with a sorcerer. A most powerful, young magician would suit them best, they said. At first Antek laughed but after a while, he yielded to their demands. He didn't much care for the man who had destroyed all he had ever had on this earth and he needed the money to rebuild Blackrock."

_Money_. Arthur couldn't believe it. Merlin had been sold like an animal in the market!

Merco looked at the Prince furtively and sighed again. "If you want to break my neck, go ahead. I couldn't say I'd blame you. I know you are fond of the boy. If it is any help to you, they made it abundantly clear to Antek that they need your sorcerer alive."

"As much as old Count Anwar needed me alive. Bloodied and dirtied and half crazy, but alive. That alive?"

Mercator winced at the shameful reminder. "I don't know, Arthur. And it's no use to ask Antek, he doesn't know either. They negotiated via intermediaries. Some foreigners. They came yesterday afternoon, took the sorcerer from our knights' hands and vanished. End of story."

"But didn't he fight back? What had your men done to him?"

"The foreigners just grabbed him and dragged him away. By which means I do not know. Maybe they have magic themselves. How on earth should I know how to subdue a magician? We never fought them, like your father did. For years on end the old Count tried to befriend the Druids, to win them as allies against Camelot, but they recoiled from him, all magicians did, as if he had some sort of plague."

"He had" Arthur said. "And that's the true reason Merlin destroyed Blackrock Castle. It wasn't a whim. Arenboarth himself told me that the stronghold itself had been infested by this unnatural magic machinations Anwar had conjured up. If you had stayed there the demonic power could have taken possession of you, all of you. Even today the Druids avoid going near the rubble and ruins, as if the plague were still there, embedded in the stones and in the dust. Ask Mirella if you do not believe me."

Mercator swallowed hard. He searched for something he could say to make this easier for the desperate young man in front of him but the choice wasn't his. The guards had finally lost their patience and chose this exact moment to burst inside. "Time's up, Sire" Sir Malcolm said after a brief look at the now sleeping patient on the bed in the corner. "Looks as if old Merco could take it from here."

Briefly Arthur pondered to resist, to struggle when Malcolm grabbed his arm but then he just followed the knight. As Antek had so aptly put it, what other options did he have?


	8. A traitor betrayed

**A/N: **The eighth chapter, finally. I am so sorry for taking that long to update but I concentrated on finishing my other story "Ghosts from an ignominious past" first.

By the way, as some of you have asked, yes, Anwar of Llanfair is – or rather was (or is he still, as Merlin believes in his cell?) the 'old Count' from my story "Dragon Hearts", the evil amateur sorcerer who almost succeeded in killing both Pendragons. Young Antek is his son.

As for the next chapters of "The Llanfair heritage" I have to admit that this story is not following the plot line of the third series. Therefore King Cendred in this story is not the Cendred from the series. Presently I do not intend to have Morgana and Morgause in this story, so that's AU, too.

I don't give any guarantees, though; I really do like them both.

By now, I think, it's time to jump back into the story.

**Please send me some reviews; it's very embarrassing, naturally I should be more independent,**** but I like getting them so very much.**

**8.**** A traitor betrayed**

Antek of Llanfair had no eye for the barbarian splendour that surrounded him while he paced restlessly to and fro. A part of his mind fretted for the outrageous amount of time which had already elapsed without King Cendred as much as acknowledging the young Count's presence in his border stronghold, not too far away from Blanchefleur Manor.

With the rest of his brain, or what rest worry and an increasingly guilty conscience had left available to him, Antek was pondering much more important problems. Such as having sworn an oath of allegiance to two different Kings, one of which was now missing in action and the other one was missing out on all the necessary action because he rarely left the bed of his mistress.

Llanfair virtually jumped when the door banged against the wall, making way for a rather dishevelled King of Cymbria. The man looked like the furnishings in his castle – rich, resplendent yet neglected and more than a bit vulgar.

"What the hell are _you _doing here?" the King now snarled, his blood shot eyes narrowed by something which quite obviously qualified as a tremendous hangover. With a wild mane of fair blond hair and eyes of an icy, turquoise blue Cendred could not hide the Saxon blood in his veins nor his quick, predatory intelligence that the man's carefully groomed appearance of laziness and self-indulgence barely covered.

At least the Cymbrian King would not have been able to hide this from experienced men like Uther Pendragon or his healer friend Gaius. Arthur, even Merlin would at least have sensed something of the formidable opponent inside this outer shell of primitiveness and barbarism. Unfortunately the young Count of Llanfair was many things, brave but careful, loyal but only selectively so, reliable but only up to a certain point and definitely extremely handsome, utterly charming, witty and a good sport – the one thing he was not was a fair judge of human character.

So he sneered at the King's wild looks and smell but he missed out on Cendred's slyly staring eyes. His reply was more than just disrespectful "Looking for some lost property, Your Grace. _Royal_ property, of the walking kind."

"You'd better take care of _your_ share of the Pendragon Crown jewels; if Camelot should ever find out that you betrayed them Uther's whelp would skin you alive with his bare hands, friendship or no." Cendred guffawed loudly before he belched with equal discretion. "It would make their day, at least one Llanfair fur to cover the Pendragon throne on a cold winter day. They did not call your father the old wolf for nothing."

Antek felt his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword and relaxed his fingers only with a considerable effort. "The idea was, correct me from wrong, for you to take King Uther to a safe place. No one should be hurt and no one should be the wiser while you held your …..colleague for some 'delicate negotiations on a private matter', as Your Majesty so aptly put it. I was to tell Uther's son a convenient fairy tale that would have kept both our backsides covered until you and Uther had it all sorted out." He huffed impatiently while he silently finished his thought "_or until you would have killed each other_".

"What an excellent memory you have my boy, now if you can remember your orders why can't you go back to this cottage you call your home nowadays and carry them out?" Apparently Cendred wasn't very interested in this conversation.

"Because your men messed it all up, damn their stupid souls." Antek yelled indignantly. "What fairy tale should I have told Arthur after he had found the rubble that remained of Uther and his escort in the middle of the road?"

This sobered the King of Cymbria sufficiently to let go of his casual attitude. "What are you saying?"

Llanfair's deep green eyes spat contempt and disgust. Other than his father he was much more akin to a cat than to a wolf. Right now he looked like a cat that unwittingly had dug her teeth into a rotting carcass instead a piece of fresh meet. "I am saying, My Lord, that your men have caused havoc in Uther's escort, they're all dead except for one old man who has told Prince Arthur all about your attack."

"What blasted attack you're talking about?" the Cymbrian Majesty roared. "When my men arrived at the crossroad to apprehend your friend's father nobody came. Finally they thought they'd mixed up the dates and turned back. By now they should be in their beds. Or wherever they go to enjoy themselves. End of story."

"Do you mean that it weren't your men who attacked Uther only a few hours away from Blanchefleur Manor?" Llanfair paled considerably when his worst suspicions were confirmed.

"That's exactly what I am saying. I have no idea where the illustrious King of Camelot is dwelling right now or with whom; the only thing I know for sure is that he is _not_ dwelling with my younger sister. Blast it."

Llanfair frowned. "What has she to do with anything?"

"And who is 'she' to you, you cheeky young bastard of a mad father and a flirtatious bitch, the cat's mother?"

Antek drew a very deep breath. He did not care much for his parents but that was strong stuff, even for him. "Forgive me, My Liege, I meant Her Royal Highness the Princess Morgyan."

"Well, there we go" the King grumbled, somewhat appeased. "Morgyan is the delicate private matter I wanted to discuss with Uther."

"I do beg your pardon?" So far Antek had thought that Cendred wanted to settle some old bills with the King of Camelot. Indeed, the fact that his Liege had some justified cause to take the Pendragon King prisoner had made things easier for the young Count's conscience, at least for a while.

However, Cendred destroyed Antek's illusions with his next words without even noticing it. "I want my sister to marry a Pendragon and so she will. Either Uther gets this insolent brat of a son back in hand long enough to drag him to the altar with my sister or he marries her herself. Anyway, Morgyan will be Queen of Camelot before I die. Would serve this wayward Prince right if his father were to have another son with my sister, eh?" Cendred chuckled menacingly under his breath.

Antek's head whirled. "Someone should have told Your Majesty that Prince Arthur is already married and that he has got a son."

The Cymbrian King waved his hand dismissively. "That brat he got from this scullery maid. Who gives a damn? I have at least half a dozen bastard sons running around but no children from my wife; the wretched creature never was good for anything but sewing and whining."

"May Her Majesty rest in the peace she never found in life" Antek said, thoroughly disgusted.

"Yes, rest, that's all she ever did. But some of my sons show promise, especially my eldest, Gyrrin. I will declare him my heir and to hell with all who oppose me." Cendred waved a bottle of strong liquor vaguely in the direction of his guest. "Want to join me?"

"No, My Lord, 10 o'clock in the morning is a bit early for me."

"You young puppies are a bit delicate nowadays, aren't you? Anyway, if the Pendragons were to back my boy up, his succession would be secure and that's all I want. And they would _have_ to back him up if they were related to him, wouldn't they? Most illustrious family they are, the Pendragons, what with that prosperous realm, their nice well-staffed army and this handsome Prince. I admit Uther is of somewhat dubious origins but Arthur's mother came from an ancient and impeccable family line, as well as my wife, the bloody bitch. Only your ancestry is more ancient, Lllanfair."

Cendred smiled predatorily, showing his surprisingly strong and healthy teeth. "So you're saying that Uther is gone? Gone for good, you think?"

Antek's guts twisted painfully. He did not like where this was going. "How am I to know, My Lord? I came here because I thought that you had captured him." On second thought, this explanation might not do the trick Antek was striving for. "Besides, I think the Pendragon wealth and power is somewhat overrated. It has been diminished by recent events and you might wish to consider other families as your allies."

"For example the Llanfairs?" Cendred smiled. "You would like that, wouldn't you? As my brother-in-law you'd certainly have no reason to worry about the future of Blackrock and the Llanfair estate, hmh?"

"_No, I'd spend all my time fearing for my life_" an almost panicking Antek thought. Renowned for having the face of an angel, the body of an antic goddess, the greed of a troll and a heart as warm and tender as an ice pick the Princess Morgyan had a singular ability to bring misfortune and destruction to all men. Not even someone as naïve as Antek of Llanfair had been able to ignore this fact.

Sipping from his large drink – his third in a row – Cendred began pacing while a calculating look came to his face. "Let's leave the jesting for later, my boy, shall we?" he said. "And let's pretend for a moment that old Uther has kicked the bucket and good riddance. That would make his son the King of the realm, is that not so?"

"Yes, surely, Your Grace but….."

"This leaves me with two options: Either I take the boy myself and make him see reason or I open negotiations with his realm's nobility. They have to acknowledge his marriage before his wife can be declared Queen, did you know that? Of course if Uther had had this servant wretch confirmed as Crown Princess before he got lost, this would not have been necessary but as far as I know he didn't."

"Which means…..?" Antek's sickness got worse by the second.

"Which means, my dear boy, that your precious friend isn't married, at least not if it comes to his own realm; not until either his father wrenches a confirmation from his Council or the nobility themselves oblige their new King before he is crowned."

Antek straightened his shoulders. "Arthur would never leave his wife and child, that much is certain. Nor would he abandon his father as long as there is any hope that he is still alive!"

"So rumours of Uther having fallen out with his son for good were somewhat premature, aye? However, if your young friend opposes his own nobility in this he will not become King, as sure as eggs is eggs. This is not in my best interest. I do not need a Camelot in shambles and on the brink of civil war, what I need is a stable, distinguished and prosperous ally to back up my son now and in future. So there's nothing for it. You'll bring your dear young friend to me and I will put him in his shoes until he's got back his senses."

"My Lord, you gave me your word that Arthur would be left out of this" Antek said while his hand wandered towards his blade again.

"Aye, my boy, that I did. As much as you gave your oath to King Uther. We both had our plans, hadn't we, and now it's time to change them. From now on I will take care of your royal friend and you can go back to this nice little hell-hole Blackrock and play with all the pretty rubble there." Cendred screwed up his nose when he watched Antek's hand close on the hilt of his blade. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, my boy. My men may not be especially fond of me but they haven't been paid yet."

Antek let out a breath he had not known he was holding and raised both hands. "Whatever you say, My Lord."

Cendred acknowledged the young Count's surrender with a very friendly smile. "No hard feelings, Count Antek. This is a difficult situation for you. Extremely difficult, I understand that. You know what? Let's get it over with. My men will escort you back to Blanchefleur right now. They can return to me with our young misled Prince in tow by noontime. The sooner you can wash your hands of this affair the better."

Antek nodded hesitatingly. "I'm sure you're right. May I suggest that I face the Prince alone? It would be much safer if he would not get suspicious prematurely and…."

"What an excellent strategist you are, my dearest Count. However, I would not want to take any risk in this. For all I know the poor misguided lad is a born stray; he may even try to run if he smells a rat. He could get hurt and I am not interested in aggravating his people, I want their everlasting friendship. Or Uther's, should he reappear." All of a sudden Cendred's amiable features hardened. "So my men will escort you and that's final!"

Helplessly Antek nodded again. Great. This was just great. He had felt miserably being caught between two stools. Now he was to be caught between enough stools to equip a concert hall.

While they were trotting towards Blanchefleur in a comfortable pace, young Llanfair counted his assets and the result was close to zero. So much for his great promises to keep his princely friend safe at all costs; how was it that such awful situations always befell him and nobody else? He had tried to make the best of his situation, not for himself but for his realm and for his people. What was wrong with that? Everybody did this, Uther, Cendred, everybody. It was a sacred tradition among rulers, betraying each other to gain an advantage. And everybody got away with it, all the time. Everybody except the Count of Llanfair, obviously.

The young Noble's heart beat painfully at the thought of what his beloved old tutor and friend Merco would say to this disastrous turn of events; Merco, the old innocent fool, who had tried to talk his young Lord out of this whole intrigue to the best of his abilities; saying that friendship and loyalty should come first and that a certain Pendragon Prince deserved better than to be let down once more by someone he trusted. The Count concentrated very much on Merco's reaction because what Arthur and his wife would have to say to this – Llanfair had no wish to think about that right now.

This was all so horribly unfair. For the rest of the way Antek was at odds with his King, the world in general and his personal lot especially.

At least until he and his 'guard of honour' reached a crossroad not too far away from where their path took a turn to the west, to the old way through the woods that led directly to Blanchefleur.

The leader of the 30 men escort gasped, then moaned as if in some pain. It was almost comical to see him fall from his mount so very slowly. His men gawked at him when he hit the ground with a mighty crash of his armour hitting the road's cobble stones.

One of his companions dismounted and checked on his superior, only to sink down by his side. The others now unsheathed their swords and looked around nervously. Out of nowhere came a gust of wind. It brought eerie whispers and a peculiar fog that slowly drifted through the clearing.

Antek jerked violently when he felt a ghostly hand touch his leg from out of the fog. In this very moment, all hell broke loose.

The horses whinnied and panicked. With their riders clinging to the saddles for dear life the escort was scattered all over the clearing in an instant; a whirl of kicking, biting and screaming beasts and terrified humans shot out of the wood in different directions, heading heaven knew where. Swords flew low when they were ripped out of their owners grasp by invisible hands, daggers and maces fell to the ground and on horse legs, spooking the mad beasts even more.

A minute later the most noble Count of Llanfair was pretty much alone in the middle of the clearing, sitting on his backside, the bridle his horse had torn before it stormed away still in his hand. Bewildered he stared at the still unconscious leader of the Cymbrian escort; then he looked up at the three men who had left the brushwood and marched towards him.

The eldest of them he knew only from Arthur's narratives of what had happened after his initial escape from Blackrock Castle. But the two others were familiar. _Very_ familiar.

"_I'm done for_" Antek thought. "_Yep._ _That was it. I'm dead_."

With wide eyes and a hanging jaw the Count of Llanfair looked directly into the faces of the two men that towered over him.

Silently, Merlin and Uther Pendragon glared back.


	9. Human feelings and other enigmas

**A/N:** Sorry, I put on the wrong version of this chapter on a moment ago. This should be the real thing.

**9. Human feelings and other enigmatic things**

"Now look whom we've got here" Merlin purred with a velvet voice while he looked appreciatively at the young aristocrat on the ground before him. "If that isn't the most august Count of Llanfair. My, my. Did you fall from your high horse for good?"

"What, how, if, why….. where do you come from?" Antek stammered. "I thought you were….."

"…rotting in some deep dark hole, slaving away for the Gods know whom, never to see the light of day again while you were spending the money you gained for selling me on rebuilding this demons' nest of a castle that will still be the downfall of the whole border region."

Antek yelped when the warlock's eyes flashed a golden light and the invisible hands came back for their prey once more, this time to close around his throat. "You tell me one, just one reason why I should not rip off your head here and now." Still Merlin's voice was made of silk and as smooth as lamb's wool. "Come on, Antek. Just one little reason. That's not too difficult, is it? Not even for a hare brain like yours."

Frantically Antek tried to think of something but nothing came to him. He _had_ sold this young sorcerer to an unknown fate and he could not have cared less for what was to become of the man afterwards. So why should the magician spare him now? Fleetingly the young Count thought of making use of the fact that Merlin's best friend was held in Blanchefleur but he dropped the idea very quickly. Neither the Manor House's walls nor guards would be amatch for a warlock whose thoughts had crushed the strongest fortress in Cendred's Kingdom to dust. Besides, Antek knew he had misused his princely friend enough; even with the invisible hands strangling him menacingly he had no intention of doing so again.

"Good bye, cruel world" Merlin sang into his victim's ear while the pressure on Llanfair's throat became even worse and his vision blackened. "Come on, My great Lord, you know that the Druids have some interest in you, can't you think of something to save your worthless life? Some offer, perhaps? Something you forgot to sell to your dear business partners along with me?"

Antek kicked uselessly with his legs and his hands dug into the forest ground in a frantic search for rescue that wasn't there. His fading thoughts tried desperately to make some sense of Merlin's teasing. Some offer? What offer? The only thing he could offer was his life and that's exactly what this lunatic sorcerer was taking away right now. Harmless? Innocent? Just a peasant boy? Arthur had no idea what snake he had been keeping near to him.

"Emrys" Arenboarth said quietly.

The warlock did not even flinch.

"Emrys!" Louder now, more imperative.

Again no reaction.

"That's _enough_!" His magic crackled angrily in the air all around him but for all he achieved the Lord Druid could as well have been talking to the forest trees.

"He's right, Merlin. Let go of him."

As the warlock obeyed Uther's command, Antek fell back to the ground, gasping and coughing, only to find himself being pulled on his feet and pushed against the nearest tree by an enraged King. "Now listen to me and listen carefully" Uther said with treacherous calm. "If it weren't for the Druids having some dealings with you, I'd have your hide from your flesh, here and now. But I promise you, if I do not see my son and the others in this place tonight, safe and sound, I will break every single bone in your miserable body, do you understand that, you measly little rat?"

"I think I could send a message to Blanchefleur that they are to be brought here" Antek muttered. "But Gaius is badly hurt." His lids fluttered and began to close. "It's just as well that you are here. I wouldn't want Arthur to be brought to Cendred anyway. Damn asshole of a King! I should have…..I should have stayed loyal to my friend. But you see, I never had a friend before."

With that he fell forward into Uther's arms and went limp. "What now?" the King yelped angrily.

"He's out as a light. People usually are if I use this spell on them" Arenboarth said curtly, his clipped tone and tight lips showing his anger. "I've told you before, both of you; as long as you are with me I will not permit such violent behaviour."

"You said you needed information" Uther protested heatedly.

"And I will have the information I need from him, in my own time and in my own way. This does not include standing idly by while you are venting your own anger on him. That applies to both of you. Now I suggest you go and see to it that the Prince and the others make it safely to our dwellings."

"I will not …."

"Uther Pendragon, as always I am far from sure what's more important to you, your son or your whims. I've told you once before, if you aren't man enough to take care of your child, I will do it for you!"

For a while King and Lord Druid glared at each other. Finally Uther Pendragon gritted his teeth and backed down.

"As you wish Arenboarth, but this traitor hasn't even seen the beginning of my anger." Unceremoniously the royal pushed the unconscious noble into Arenboarth's arms and went for his horse, trying desperately to keep up his composure under the derisive looks of the other Druids. After the group of female and male sorcerers had made sure that Cendred's men had been spooked away for good by their little magical horror show, they had left their cover in the brushwood and listened to the brief but temperamental encounter with much pleasure.

This was almost as good as last time when the Pendragons had been visiting. The shouting match between the kingly father and his princely son had long since become part of the Druid legends; the perfect piece of comedy to be talked about at the campfire during a long and cold night with nothing else to do.

Meanwhile Merlin had had some time to think. The piece of Gaius being badly hurt had not bided well and what had been Antek's last words before he had lost it?

"My Lord, perhaps we should follow Antek's advice and take a message from him to Blanchefleur. It would make things easier and safer for our people."

"Forget it Merlin, I will not wait for that bloody pig to wake up. If they do not want to open the gates for us I don't doubt that you will know what to do about it." Uther had set his mind on needing nobody's help in future. Look where it had taken him to accept the Lord Druid's help!

Angrily he rammed his knee into his horse's side to tighten the belt of his saddle. Damned sorcerers, treacherous bastards, the lot of them. "Are you coming Merlin or do you need a written invitation?"

It didn't occur to his most enraged Majesty of Camelot that he was asking a sorcerer for his help in this very moment. But then the thought that Merlin was _not_ one of his knights - albeit the one without armour and the cheapest to keep - never occurred to Uther Pendragon these days. He had conveniently forgotten that less than two years ago his death sentence for the young magician had started the vexed estrangement between him and Arthur.

"Emry's, wait." Arenboarth shook his head in silent despair at Uther's behaviour, waved his hand and murmured something. A split second later he held a well written note in his hand; a parchment with the Llanfair crest on it, saying that the King and his companion had Antek's full consent to take their people out.

"So you are not above faking documents or other fraud, My Lord Druid?"

"I did not violate the Count's wishes. He would have wanted to do this if I hadn't been forced to knock him out!" Arenboarth was so indignant by now, he almost sniffed. Only in the very last moment he remembered what he owed his rank and dignity and avoided the tale telling sound.

Merlin grinned mercilessly. "It's a pity you are no longer willing to take me on as an apprentice. You could teach me so much; your skill in deluding yourself about the quality of your actions outshines even the Pendragons' gifts for self-betrayal."

The warlock took the note and left the aghast Lord Druid where he stood. Without another look he mounted his horse and followed his King.

"Who would ever have thought you would make an enemy of the most powerful warlock of our times, My Lord."

Arenboarth looked at his compatriot and sighed again. "Not an enemy, Marwon. But I've hurt him deeply. I acted in haste when I made him an outcast from his own kind. Now I guess I've lost the right to begrudge him his allegiance with the Pendragons."

Marwon didn't look very convinced. "Then how do you think to convince him to risk even more in our service?"

"I guess I'll have to convince Emrys that our interests are the Pendragons' interests too."

"But that would be a lie, My Lord!"

The Lord Druid shrugged musingly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, my friend. Presently nobody can be sure of anything, except that the men who killed Uther's escort and tried to abduct him will come for him again; and maybe for his son as well."

"But what would happen if our unknown opponents were to learn that father and son are here with us, without Camelot even knowing it? We would have to defend them on our own in case of an outright military attack."

From Marwon's voice it was hard to tell if he feared this chance or if he appreciated it and Arenboarth was deeply troubled at the thought that his followers might have gained an appetite for the kind of adventures the Pendragons seemed to attract like a magnet would attract a sword.

This would have to stop. Once this whole messy business the old Count of Llanfair had brought about was over the Druids would go back to their simple and peaceful lives and he would be damned if anyone of them ever went near a Pendragon again. Resolutely the Lord Druid turned towards Antek. "He should at least be able to shed some light on Cendred's plans, even if the King of Cymbria is not the one we are looking for. And he should know what has become of the Rashnijaan. We should talk to him before Uther and Emrys are back!"

While Arenboarth laboured to undo his own spell – a thing that proved much more difficult than he would have thought as Antek seemed to enjoy the time out – Uther was having some qualms of his own about a certain warlock's behaviour.

"What was the matter with you back there? You almost broke Llanfair's neck."

Merlin looked stubbornly ahead. "Since when do you care?"

As a result of this insolent reply the magician almost fell from his horse when Uther grabbed the mare's bridle. "I care because we may still have need of him. Besides, this behaviour is not like you. And if you ever use this tone of voice with me again you'll regret it, sorcery or no!"

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon, but I will not" Merlin stated sarcastically. "Not from Arenboarth's hands and most definitely not from yours. You have finished intimidating me as well as you are done intimidating your son."

"How dare you…."

"Oh, I dare to say much more, _Sire_. You almost killed your own son for his loyalty to me, for spite you sent him into the hands of his most mortal enemy. When I – _I_, My Lord, and my magic – brought Arthur back from Llanfair's hell by sheer luck you pushed him away again, directly into Antek's outstretched arms."

By now the magician had talked himself into a formidable wrath. "If you could have made up your mind to accept Gwen a bit earlier, Arthur would still be in Camelot." Panting with anger Merlin shook his head violently. "Gaius would still be well and for once I could have a good night's sleep, without being lashed into, captured or worried to death about the consequences of the next lunatic idea that might get into this stupid head of yours. You don't deserve your son, you never did."

"Nor you?"

"You never had me in the first place. I am Arthur's man and I always will be. And if I were in his shoes I'd take my family and run, run to the end of the world to get away from it all, from Camelot, from Llanfair and most of all from you."

All of a sudden Uther smiled. Finally he laughed out loud and did not stop until he felt the heat of angry magic on his hands and chest; magic that was only a hair's breadth away from lashing out in earnest.

"Hold it, Merlin" he said hastily. "I just remembered a talk we once had, you and I. I told you that you and I could be friends as long as I could be sure of your loyalty to Arthur. I would have thought twice if I had known what you really are. Does my son know you consider yourself his _nann__y?_"

Uther knew that he had prevented this tantrum from becoming something else as Merlin's bewildered face clearly showed that the wind had been taken out of his sails. "_Oh, my boy"_ he thought. _"For all your tremendous powers you still have so much to __learn. It's much too easy to put a ring through your nose._"

And yet, for all his smug, superior attitude, the King had not forgotten the sight of the old Count of Llanfair whom the warlock had sentenced to a horribly slow and torturing death. With the terrifying image fresh in his mind, Uther decided to let the subject of Merlin's earlier behaviour towards Antek rest. Obviously the usually easy-going, kind-hearted peasant had some sore spots in this that were better left untouched, so Pendragon let go of Merlin's horse and graced the younger man with a fond and soothing smile. "With all due respect and if it would please the mighty Court Sorcerer of Camelot, we have a Prince in distress waiting for us. As always."

Much to his own chagrin Merlin felt a smile of his own coming to his face and against his better judgement he mumbled an apology of which he knew its recipient to be most undeserving. To hell with this madman's invincible charm!

Barely two hours later Gwen started and yelped in surprise. As always the sound made her husband rush to her anxiously. "Arthur, look, this is your father. And Merlin."

The Prince's eyes widened while he looked out of the window and found her excited exclamations to be true. The next instant he was banging at the locked door so hard that he missed the sound of the keys that opened it. Arthur did not even look at the unfortunate soldier whose face suffered for his carelessness of still standing in front of the heavy piece of wood and iron when the door was forcefully banged open to make way for a most impatient human being on his way out.

Once more the Pendragon King had cause to chew on and gulp down a heavy lump of jealousy and pricked pride while his only son enthusiastically greeted his warlock friend with a mighty bear hug before he even acknowledged his father's presence. There had been a time in their life when it would have been the other way round and although he was gaining on it, Uther still had a hard time admitting, even to himself, that he had lost his prominent place in his son's affections much by his own foolishness.

However, there was no time for tender feelings; somehow there never was. Which of course was part of the problem.

"Father, are you all right?" Arthur asked urgently.

"Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?" Uther shot back and could have kicked his own arse for it, as the openly showed fondness and anxiety vanished from his son's face instantly.

"Look Arthur, we have to talk later. We must leave as long as they are off balance. See to it that your family and Gaius get on some horses."

"But…"

"Son, there's no time for buts and ifs. We must get out of here, _now_!" Uther almost toppled with relief at the sight of his daughter-in-law who hurried down the stairs with the child in her arms. At least the woman was no fool, he'd grant her that. And not even he could deny that he owed her for her graciousness to send him an invitation to see his grandchild. And at least she had come down to say good bye on his departure while this ungrateful brat he had for a son hadn't even...

Suddenly remembering how he had loved tending to his wife, long, long ago, the King helped Guinivere to one of the horses that had miraculously appeared just on time – actually the miracle's name had been Merlin – while Arthur, supported by a very pale Mercator, helped Gaius to Merlin's saddle before the magician mounted himself and took the wounded healer into his arms.

As the younger Pendragon made ready to get on his mount, the Llanfair physician grabbed his arm. "Arthur, please. Something's wrong here. Please let me come with you. I _must_ know what has happened to Antek."

The Prince glanced furtively at his fidgeting father and warlock friend. "Arthur, please. I beg of you."

"C'mon" and ignoring Uther's disbelieving moan as well as Merlin's exasperatedly sinking head and Guinivere's encouraging smile Arthur pulled Antek's healer friend up on his horse and took the lead of the small cavalcade before anyone could say anything.

It was a tight moment when they approached the gates. Arthur as well as his father let out a deep breath they had been holding when Sir Malcolm as the head of the Llanfair knights actually led Mirella and Leon towards them, together with Leon's men. The Prince wanted to ask his father once more about the way this had been achieved but Uther's face was still so very forbidding that his son changed his mind and kept silent.

As much as both Pendragons had come to rely on Merlin's powers in close call situations Arthur felt it painfully that only his father was armed while he and his knights were not. Instinctively the Prince brought his own horse closer to that of his wife while he stared wistfully at the blades which Sir Malcolm had taken from him and put in his own belt. However, the Llanfair knights' eyes shot daggers at them but otherwise they weren't molested, neither while they rode out nor afterwards.

Once out of the manor house's immediate reach, Arthur felt one immense weight being lifted from his shoulders while another one settled down on them. With an urgent glance he pleaded Gwen to stay close by his side.

For a long while they all rode as fast as possible with the injured old man and a still recovering young mother, but in stubborn silence. Leon and Mirella exchanged worried glances when they felt the mood tense between Arthur and the others but they took their lead from their companions and kept their mouths shut. Only Merlin interrupted the common sulking briefly when he guessed the meaning of Arthur's former looks correctly, elbowed his friend and handed him his own sword and knife before he fell back to the end of their line. Hunith's son by now knew himself as a powerful sorcerer who made up for his powers by being - and preferably staying - a lousy swordsman.

Silently the Prince took on the sword belt and made a mental note to thank his former servant later.

Other than this short respite the black mood was bad enough to sicken even the kindest and most optimistic soul. Therefore Guinivere would have liked to scream with nervousness for the accusing stares in her back long before they reached the forest Uther had curtly indicated as their aim, although the prying eyes targeted not her but her husband and old Merco.

Finally they reached a crossway and Arthur decided that he had had enough. Resolutely he reined in his stallion and turned towards the man who had once taught him that offence was the best defence. "All right, father. Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"


	10. Error of judgement

**10. Error of judgement**

Inwardly sighing Gaius thought that watching a royal Pendragon's impatience and inner torment had formed too big a part of his life. If he had known this to be a inherent part of a Court Physician's task he'd have paid more attention to the lectures of the old soul healers, back on the Blessed Isle.

This time it was the younger of the two who was pacing to and fro through the beautiful, cosy little bedroom like a captured predator in a cage.

"Arthur, as much as I appreciate what you've done for me, there's no need to stay with me. Surely you would want to join the others? After all you've a lot to celebrate; your freedom and most of all your father's miraculous rescue. And Merlin's."

"Yes, sure." His face pale and with a frown somewhere between anger and sadness the Prince hardly looked like a man in a festive mood.

On and on went the pacing, lithe and lissom as a cat, all muscles tensed. Gaius admired the strength and the unwitting elegance of these movements that no longer told of the horrid injuries the old wolf of Llanfair had inflicted on his prisoner. If only the soul could heal as easily as the body - things might be much easier for Arthur Pendragon.

Not for the first time Camelot's Court Physician wished he could find a potion against the odd mixture of stubbornness, pride, rashness on the one hand and true and genuine dedication and affection on the other. The special Pendragon blend of character treats was a blessing as well as a curse; it always had and most probably always would cause trouble between father and son. As much as between close friends.

"Then why do you not join the others?" Gaius insisted, if most kindly. "I'm sure Merlin would like to talk to you." He paused for a moment before he went on, unsure if he was right in breaching a confidence. "The boy thinks you're avoiding him on purpose and he's taking it hard."

When the tormented face turned towards him, blue eyes visibly searching for some understanding the healer inwardly braced himself. He knew that look from earlier years. From the child that had once rampaged the Camelot nursery for no other reason but that he had been incredibly lonely, only to regret the havoc he had caused immediately afterwards. Later on the boy had not turned to his father with his troubles but to the Court Physician. Up to today Gaius was glad that Uther had never found out how much his only son had confided in a servant over the years of his childhood.

Looking every inch the confused boy he had once been Arthur slumped down in a chair and rubbed his face. "I wonder why Merlin should not be grateful for me leaving him alone. After all it has been my fault that he was sold to those brutes. And as for my father..." unable to keep still for long the Prince jumped back to his feet and the pacing went on until Gaius' head swam a bit. "If it hadn't been for my stubborn stupidity he'd still be back home. To think that all his men have died, that you were almost killed and that these filthy pigs had him abducted only because I had wanted to put my foot down..."

"Nonsense" Gaius replied with some heart felt conviction. "How were you to know that Antek would betray you like that?"

"Obviously everyone else knew" Arthur said bitterly. "Merlin warned me not to trust him, and so did Leon, even Guinivere did, more than once. But naturally I had to know better, putting everyone at risk, even my own wife and child. A fine King I will make one day, won't I? I cannot even tell friend from foe!"

Gaius began to feel uncomfortable. These confessions went too far; as sure as rain Arthur would regret opening his heart like that soon enough and the Crown Prince's regard and affection was too precious to the healer to risk losing them due to Arthur feeling ashamed of revealing himself like that.

"Frankly, Sire, I think you shouldn't tell all that to me but to the people in question." Having said that, the physician drew strength from what he knew about somebody else's inner torment. "Two days ago we arrived here. 'Thanks for the sword, Merlin' and nothing else, not one word. You see him approach and you go away at once. He doesn't deserve this from you, he really doesn't."

"When he gave me the sword and turned away I thought this had been it. A gesture of farewell so to say. Not that I'd blame him for finally leaving me. He's had more than his due share of tribulations ever since he first came to Camelot and we did preciously little to make it up to him."

This did it. Enough was enough and Gaius would not allow it to go any further. If there had ever been a moment to put some of the authority he had gained during the Prince's childhood to the test, it was now. So he inhaled deeply and pulled all his courage together. "Arthur, after all we've been through these last 18 months I hope you will forgive an old man for speaking his mind. Almost always in your quarrels with your father I've been on your side but not any more. Not when you take them as an excuse to wallow in self-pity. Maybe you have made a grave error of judgement when you trusted Antek but you cannot undo that. You can only improve the future, not the past. So I'd say you go to your father and the two of you make it up with each other, this time for good. He has accepted your marriage now. What more can you ask for?"

As the Prince kept silent at that and lowered his head, Gaius fought the urge to rise and take him in his arms like he had done when this young dragon had still been little. But he was not little any more. It was no good pampering him, his father had spoilt him for that any road. "Forget the foolish talk of never setting foot into Camelot again as long as he's King, Sire. Your father has made many mistakes, but he kept Camelot safe as your inheritance. We all have made sacrifices and we all deserve that you take it some day in the same good faith in which it will be given. To you and to your son."

Gaius smiled cautiously into the astonished and somewhat embarrassed face which was now turned towards him. "Come back to Camelot with us, Your Highness. Please. It's high time to go home. For all of us."

Arthur fought with a lump in his throat. Each and everything his father had ever taught him called for a most noble, most haughty answer while all that was his real self called for a close hug. In the end the inner battle terminated with a two sided defeat. "If you think so, Gaius..." wasn't an exactly regal thing to say and it wasn't an especially gratifying or endearing remark either.

But for someone who had known him all his life it was more than enough to heave a sigh of utter relief. "You are making the right decision, Sire. Especially as it isn't an easy one."

If someone other than Gaius had said that, it would have been an empty flattering which most probably had earned the speaker a vicious reward. But coming from the healer Arthur appreciated it as genuine, and at face value. "Do you think that we all would want to go back to Camelot? There still is someone whom I earned some time in the hands of some people trading in young magicians."

Gaius shrugged dismissively. As this seemed to be the night of truth, so be it. No matter how wise it usually was to tread carefully in telling the truth to Princes, he could hardly avoid it now.

"Merlin's once told you that he'd be glad to be your servant until the day he dies and he meant every word of it. There is nothing, absolutely nothing you could do that would make him turn away from you unless you push him away. And, honestly, My Lord, you are doing exactly that right now. If you do not explain things to him soon, you may really lose him. I fear you'll have to think of something like an apology, Sire."

Gaius had no idea how very right he was, especially in this precise moment.

Merlin had sworn a most solemn oath to himself that this time it would be for Arthur to make the first step but naturally this proved to be too big a task. Ever since they had arrived in Arenboarth's new village – if 'village' was an apt denotation for the rural but not primitive, even somewhat luxurious dwellings the Druid tribe now lived in – the Prince's carefully maintained distance had worn out his warlock-friend's resolve.

Now, much to his own chagrin, Merlin found himself approaching the chambers Arenboarth had given to Arthur and his family for the duration of their stay. Wisely the Lord Druid had thought it better to accommodate the King in another house, at the far end of the village, after their last confrontation had left both Pendragons with sore throats – and hearts.

The young warlock's hand had already closed around the doorknob when he suddenly felt a surge of his original anger rise in him. He let go of the knob and turned round resolutely. No, not this time. For once the royal prat should come to _him_, not the other way round.

Admittedly, Merlin didn't feel too good when he furtively made his way to the house's ground floor where the still recovering Gaius was presently residing. But there was nothing for it. Much had changed between Merlin and the others from Camelot, especially between the warlock and Arthur's knights, who nowadays tended to treat the 'conqueror of Blackrock castle' as an equal. However, in times of need Camelot's unofficial Court Sorcerer still felt the most secure with his old healer friend. And just now the presumably almighty warlock was nothing more than a youngster in dire need of emotional comfort, as always when he and Arthur had a serious quarrel. Somehow this seemed to happen more and more frequently, at least since Antek and the whole devilish Llanfair breed had come into everything.

On his arrival at Gaius' doorstep the warlock looked virtually crestfallen and a not too small amount of self-pity made him look like a lost kitten which had been kicked out into the rain for too long. "Gaius, I swear this Pendragon clotpole will be the death of me yet" he said miserably before his second foot had actually made it inside the room. "You know, to him I don't exist any more. He's avoiding me, all haughty and arrogance. Ungrateful prat!"

From his cosy seat in the sunny, well cushioned window sill the healer gave his young friend a punitive look and pointed his chin towards a corner behind the angry magician, a warning gesture that was completely wasted on the addressee. "Merlin, you shouldn't say such things right now."

"And why not?" was the most indignant reply.

"Because he fears I could take offence" an all too familiar voice said from behind. "Other than you, Gaius knows how to treat a Prince."

To his burning shame the warlock felt his face grow hot with embarrassment when Arthur approached him from behind the door where he had been standing. With well feigned casualness the Prince slapped Merlin's neck when he passed him. Gently, very gently, but for the other young man's state of mind, it was enough.

"Don't slap me." Roughly Merlin pushed Arthur's lingering arm away before it could go round his shoulder. "To you and your noble friends I may be nothing more than a dog but I'm not. Why aren't you with Antek anyway? He must be desperate to scrap his way back into your good grace."

"Merlin, stop it" a most worried Gaius tried to intervene before something was said which could not be taken back without even more hurt and loss of face, but it was no good. Merlin had too much of an inner conflict to bear, an unbelievably intertwined mixture of offence, jealousy, longing to be on good terms with his friend once more and the wish to laugh all awkwardness away. Now that the cause of it all was standing in front of him, the warlock's injured feelings got the better of him. He had no intention of giving in without at least a small victory to mollify his hurt pride and self-esteem.

So, with an angry shake of his head, Merlin continued to yell at an already very pale and withdrawn Prince, instinctively searching for some words which might hurt as much as Arthur had hurt him. And he found them. "You know, I think you'd be thick headed enough to forgive this Llanfair scum once more if he made pretty please. Naturally I'd rather eat dirt before I'd do such a thing but you have always had a weak spot for boot-lickers. Flatters your supercilious ego, doesn't it, especially after you have made a fool of yourself and almost got us all killed."

Merlin had blurted that out _before_ he had held council with his better judgement.

Gaius knew that he hadn't meant half of it. Unfortunately, Arthur's intuition did not go that far. Only for an instant his face showed what he really felt before it became a closed door, a restricted area of a most regal reservedness. The kind he would have shown to an enemy who had him cornered. Merlin knew that expression very well. Somewhere inside him a voice whispered that he might have gone too far this time.

"Fine" Arthur said after an awkward spell of horrified silence. "If that's what you think of me I doubt we have anything more to talk about." With a face virtually grey with mortification and shame he swept past the warlock who was too busy sorting out his own mixed feelings to do anything about it.

Arthur had hardly escaped out of the room when a book flew by and against the wall, missing Merlin's head by a hair's breadth.

"Whoa, hold it, Gaius. What was that for?" If Merlin was to be judged by his wide uncomprehending blue eyes alone he was the incarnation of insulted innocence.

Naturally this could not fool the healer one bit.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Gaius shouted. "Have you taken complete leave of your senses or what?"

"I hate it if he does that" Merlin replied, rather lamely now that Gaius' genuine wrath was very obvious. "Slapping me and all that."

"Slapping you, my foot. He hardly touched you. You had no cause to fly at him like that."

"Yes, I had. You know I had. Two days ago we came here, two whole days and he didn't even look at me. He ignored me, talking to Arenboarth, talking to Leon, Mirella, to you and all the others, to each and everybody except me and his father. I could have been swallowed whole by some questing beast for all he cared."

The physician let his shoulders and head sink down, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. Between all the sword fights, magical attacks, abductions, blackmail, political manoeuvres and other close calls which seemed to be the normal life of these two, he as well as almost everybody else tended to forget how young they both still were. Finally the healer decided that the second half of the coin needed as much careful handling as the first half had only minutes ago. The kind of careful handling that cannot be given from a distance, and he tried to get up.

"Gaius, don't. Arenboarth said you must not get up for at least another two days."

Looking into his ward's anxious eyes Gaius felt his last remaining anger melt away and he took Merlin's wrist to pull him down to sit at his side. "Didn't it occur to you that Arthur might feel guilty for what happened to you and his father? He's almost killing himself with self-accusations because he trusted Antek with your life and the lives of his family. You know his accursed pride; he needed all this time to muster enough courage to come to you and apologize, especially after the earful about his stupidity he got from Uther on our way here. And you chuck him out before he can say a thing."

"_So much for getting some comfort from someone who's on __**my**__ side for a change_" Merlin thought. "_How come that nobody ever sides with __**me**_?" It was almost – almost! – enough to silence his own guilty conscience which had begun muttering that, for once, it had been _him_ who had behaved very stupidly.

Gaius saw the deep angry frown on the younger man's face, persistent in spite of all the better knowledge underneath it, and sighed silently. There was no talking sense into him now, that much was obvious. "Well, let's hope that he will be calmer in the morning" he gently said. "Now that the danger has passed."

Merlin, feeling more than a bit sheepish, was all too ready to believe in that. "I think things will be better once he has stopped blaming himself for the peril Uther and I have been in. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, I do!" What else should Gaius have said to that? It was what he himself hoped with all his heart. Heaven forbid that Prince and warlock would really fall oút with each other permanently.

The warlock shrugged helplessly while his signature smile lit up his whole face. "You know how it is. It's impossible to be with him but it is also impossible to be without him."

Resolved to change the subject Gaius said "by the way, I'm still at a loss to understand how you and Uther came here in the first place. As the King is burying himself in his quarters, would _you_ mind explaining things slowly and patiently to an old man?"

As he had hoped, this kept the usual lopsided smile on the warlock's face. Trustingly Merlin pulled his legs up to the window sill and settled down for the narrative. He had grown accustomed to telling his adventures to Gaius over the years and had actually taken some liking in the act.

"Well, there's not so much to tell, really" he began.

"_I'd bet, from your preparations_" Gaius thought fondly.

"When Uther and you had left, Arthur informed Gwen and me that he had decided to leave Blanchefleur for good. Not to go back to Camelot but somewhere else, wherever his father would choose he said. He wanted to tell Antek during a two days' hunt the bloody Llanfair bastard had planned for the same afternoon. Naturally neither I nor Leon and his lot were invited. They rode out, Antek, a whole bunch of his men and Arthur, all alone. As soon as they had passed the gates for good, Antek's other men came for me. They had me down in the cellar, bound and gagged in no time."

Despite his valiant attempt to sound casual and indifferent he shuddered under the memories. Gaius' comforting hand on his back didn't do much to calm him.

"You see, I couldn't fight back. The drinking water in my room must have been laced with something. I was dizzy and all; and I felt sick even before they came for me." It still gave him the creeps, that much was visible from the goose-flesh on his arms.

"It took half the night for them to come back. I had no idea what had happened to the others. Arthur, Guinivere, even the little one, I did not know whether they were alive or dead. The soldiers untied my feet, but nothing else, and dragged me out. It was pitch dark in the court yard. There were some men, huddled into their cloaks and hoods. They gave a fat leather purse to the Llanfair guards and received some parcels in return. One looked like a wrapped up book, others would have contained other items. After some talking they threw a second purse at the Llanfairs and grabbed my arms. It was then that I finally understood that I had been sold, together with all the other stuff they had bought."

Unknowingly his nervous hands began to play with the blanket. "I was so scared; the drug seemed to lose all effect in an instant. I tried to shove them away with my thoughts, something I can easily do, usually. But this time it was as if my magic dripped off their skin. With the gag in my mouth I couldn't use a spell. I tried to struggle but they had a knife at my neck in an instant. I had no other choice but to follow them. One of them, it must have been their leader, mounted his horse behind me and we rode off. I have no idea how long we were under way but suddenly the leader's horse stumbled and fell, dragging us both down with him. Some wild looking creatures jumped out of the shrub, howling madly. The other strangers chased off, I think their horses must have been thoroughly spooked. I sure was. Spooked, I mean. The man who had been holding me rose to his feet and pulled his sword. He uttered some kind of spell but it didn't work. He tried to grab me again but I managed to roll out of his reach. Before he could come after me the savages had him surrounded. He wielded his sword, kept them at bay, but he was vastly outnumbered. Finally he lost hold of one of the parcels, the one which looked like a book. The others he stuffed under his coat before he turned and simply ran away."

A bit of the fear and anguish of this night still resided in Merlin's features when he continued. "I waited for the attackers to pursue him but they did not. Instead they came to me. I feared I'd jumped from the frying pan into the fire. When I first recognized Marwon and some of the others from Arenboarth's tribe I was sure it was wishful thinking. It took them some time to convince me that they had really freed me."

"Must have been some celebration afterwards" Gaius tossed in gingerly; only mildly surprised as Merlin shook his head in strong denial.

"Nobody felt like celebrating that night" the warlock said softly, a bit lost in his vivid memories. "For all I knew Arthur and the others were dead or captured, perhaps traded off as much as me, like some cattle in the market. Besides, Arenboarth was in an awful mood, really unbearable."

"I know he didn't treat you exactly fair Merlin when he expelled you from the Druid tribes for what you did to old Anwar of Llanfair but..."

"... I had had no idea he could ever be like that" Merlin interrupted his old friend as if the healer hadn't spoken at all. "His hands were shaking while he unpacked the parcel and when he found it was only a folder with a bunch of handwritten documents and notes he swore blasphemously. I had never thought that he'd _know_ this kind of language."

As he felt compelled to say something by Merlin's questioning face Gaius smiled ruefully. "The last time I heard him swear was some thirty years ago, into the face of another young adept who had been caught sleeping while it had been his duty to guard the Lord Druid's personal library. I admit, an angry Arenboarth is a very intimidating sight."

Merlin made a face and continued. "You could say that. And he did not calm down all night, for a time I thought he'd do himself an injury in his blind wrath. It was Marwon who told me on the way to the village that Arenboarth had been keeping Blanchefleur under constant surveillance for some time, as well as the road to Camelot. So the Druids had been aware of the attack against the King, albeit they came too late to prevent it. Marwon said that Uther's abductors had disguised themselves as Cendred's men, with crest and all, but that Arenboarth was absolutely sure that Cendred had nothing to do with this attack. Anyway the Druids had succeeded in scaring them off, much the same as they did with my captors. Marwon also told me that all in Uther's escort had been killed."

With the original shock of the news of Gaius' death washing over him again, Merlin's hand searched for that of his old mentor. Gently the healer returned the anxious squeeze, glad that the curt and rough but as always very effective treatment Arenboarth had given him on their arrival had cured him almost completely. Obviously his ward had worried more than was good for him about Gaius' injuries.

"I can't tell you how happy I was when I heard from Antek that you had been wounded and that you were in Blanchefleur with Arthur and the others. He babbled something about it when we captured him" Merlin went on, his sprightly features now displaying the relief he had felt. "Anyway, Arenboarth kept rambling on about something that had to be found under all circumstances. Apparently this Rashnijaan is very important to him, whatever it is."

Gaius' hands suddenly went limp and fell away from Merlin's body. "The what?" he whispered.

"It's called Rashnijaan. I asked him what it might be and why it is so important but he refused to tell me. I asked Mirella but she had never heard of it either. I'm sorry but I have no more of an idea what all of this has to do with us and Antek or who these mysterious abductors might have been than you have. Seems as if not even Antek himself knows anything. Arenboarth has pestered him with questions, even with a spell of forced truth as far as I know, but he got nothing out of our dear Count of Llanfair."

Only now Merlin realised that he had lost his audience's attention. Gaius was staring into nothingness. He definitely looked like a man who had seen a ghost.

"But look what I'm doing here" the warlock said most embarrassedly. "I talk and talk while you need to rest. It's not as if we'd lack the time to continue this later. The good news is, Arenboarth has asked me to stay. Can you imagine? All of a sudden he wants to take me back as his apprentice."

The warlock paused, waiting for a reaction from his friend. After all, Gaius had been more than a bit disappointed when the Lord Druid had been adamant that Merlin was not allowed back to the Druids for his magical training, even if it was not Arenboarth himself who would give it to him. The healer hadn't said much about his rejected requests but it had been clear that he had begun to feel that Merlin's powers exceeded his abilities to teach magic by far now and that he would have liked to see his ward's outstanding abilities in the hands of a more capable teacher.

"The Druids even want Arthur and his family to stay, after Uther's been seen safely back to Camelot" Merlin said tentatively when Gaius kept silent. "Arenbaorth says to give father and son a break from their constant quarrelling but I think it's for Mirella's sake. She is his only daughter after all, even though she married a knight against her father's wishes. She's with child now. Leon told me only this morning. He is beside himself with joy..." the warlock's voice faded away. Anxiously he looked at the old man who suddenly appeared to be very fragile and vulnerable, except for the hand that had closed over the young magician's fingers once more, this time pressing them with surprising strength until the bones creaked.

Merlin was unsure of what to do. He did not want to go on pestering his obviously still weakened friend but he would not escape the strong grip by force either. So he just went on talking. "Don't you think that this might be why Arenboarth wants Arthur to stay here for a while? I mean, where his Prince leads, Leon will follow. He always does."

Slowly Gaius' gaze came back to the young man's face. "Yes, Merlin" he replied quietly. "And so will you."


	11. Abusive manoeuvres

**11. Abusive manoeuvres**

"Gaius, what do you think you're doing!" Judging from his appalled look, the Lord Druid was thoroughly aghast at the sight of the old man tottering into the library. Arenboarth jumped to his feet and caught him a mere second before his unexpected guest undoubtedly would have crashed to the floor.

The more surprise for the Druid when an enraged Gaius pushed his helping hands away as soon as he had regained some of his footing. "Go away from me, you hypocrite."

Almost instantaneously the expression in the Master Sorcerer's face changed into one of guilt. If Gaius had needed any more proof for his suspicions being justified, the sight of Arenboarth's usually reserved, always somewhat blasé features suddenly blushing with obvious shame would have been more than enough to confirm his worst assumptions.

"When did Your Eminence plan to enlighten the King as to your plans?" the healer said while he sat down in the nearest chair that conveniently blocked the room's only exit. Uther's old friend trembled from weakness as well as with genuine wrath.

"I had no plans that should bother Uther. Otherwise I would have informed him - and you" Arenboarth replied, stepping back, looking away – still blushing.

"Oh didn't you really. How very considerate of you. Pray, tell me what do you take me for, an imbecile? All of a sudden you want the Prince to stay, and his wife and child as well. You, who always said that a warrior's mere presence would contaminate the pureness of your people's souls. Merlin may think you really want an excuse to prolong your daughter's visit but I know better. Mirella might as well be dead for all you care, now that she has married a soldier."

Still panting heavily Gaius had to clear his throat before he could continue. "No, what you really want is to have Merlin's best friends here, alone, cut off from everybody else. Just in case Merlin was to see through all your feigned mercy and forgiveness; see you for what you really are – a coward and a scoundrel."

"You are going too far, Gaius, I…."

"You _what_, My Lord Druid? It's as plain as a pikestaff that you are going to make a cat's paw of my boy. Should he refuse you, you are going to use Arthur, to bend Merlin to your will by force if needs be. But I won't allow it and there's an end to it."

"Surely you see that the Rashnijaan _must_ be recovered and destroyed at all costs" the Druid exploded. His voice resounded from the high walls while his magic created an invisible but almost palpable aura of aggressive energy around him.

However, if he had planned to intimidate the healer he had made a gross miscalculation.

"Arenboarth of Ullstone, I was made a senior adept on the Blessed Isle when you were still a pimpled youngster who dozed off during nightly contemplations; _**so don't you try these childish games with me**_!"

It was an old and not too complicated trick to 'grow' in the eyes of a beholder, to use one's magic to appear 'larger than life'. But old trick or no, the Master Sorcerer had to admit, albeit silently, that the physician did a decisively intimidating job.

With a visible effort the Druid pulled himself together. "Gaius, I repeat: The Rashnijaan _has_ to be found. Great evil can come from it; _will_ come from it if it falls into the wrong hands."

"From what I gathered from last year's events in Blackrock it _has been_ in the wrong hands for more than 20 years. And the sun is still up in the sky. Anyway, what business is this bloody book of Camelot? The old Llanfair wolf will never use it to threaten Arthur again, he's dead. His treacherous rogue of a son can go back to his beloved Blackrock for all I care. We Pendragons, royalty or servants, will go back to Camelot together, that's all I am interested in."

Arenboarth saw the stubbornness in the other man's face and he had a clear conception of what this man's advice and pleading would mean to Prince and warlock. There was no doubt that Gaius' wishes would win if the healer were to throw his weight around in this.

All of a sudden the Lord Druid changed his tune to a more imploring attitude. "Do you really think Camelot's walls can protect you from the Book of Demons' power? Are you that naïve? Uther's abduction, the people who bargained with Antek for Emrys – they were only the beginning. I tell you, these brutes are after the Rashnijaan _and_ after a young magician who can bring the evil in it to life! Merlin already _is_ in this up to his neck. And he is the only one who has the abilities necessary for its retrieval."

As if he had been stabbed with a knife Gaius bolted from his chair, only to grab the wood hard enough to whiten his knuckles. "Don't try to fool me, Arenboarth, I warn you. _You _were the one who cast Merlin out; you told him he'd never be allowed back to you. You said that what he had done to save his friends disgusted you; that _he_ disgusted you. And now that his willingness to dirty his hands in wrestling with dark magic suits your plans, you pull him out of the dustbin? It won't wash, Arenboarth, it won't wash!"

"Emrys and his Prince have much in common nowadays" Arenboarth replied with forced calm. "They both have an old man in their lives who said some rash words he has regretted ever since but cannot for the life of him take back, no matter how hard he tries to make amends."

"Humility isn't exactly becoming in you, My Lord Druid. And frankly, you are not very believable." Awkwardly Gaius pulled himself straight and turned to the door. "This is leading nowhere. I will put a stop to it. We will all leave together and that's final. Uther is waiting for nothing else but my recovery anyway, he won't refuse me."

Inwardly the Druid was pained more than he had imagined he would be if it came to this. He had had some hopes to avoid this predicament; albeit these hopes hadn't been strong, they had been precious to him. Very precious actually and it hurt to let them die. He knew this hope would be destroyed with his next words. There would be no chance to ever reconcile himself with Gaius and Emrys, who both had been very close to his heart in the past.

"So you leave me no other choice. I will no longer invite the Prince to stay under some pretext; I will _tell_ him what this is about. He has suffered the Rashnijaan's power. You know his nature better than I do. He would leave the dangerous quest to nobody else."

No hidden onlooker of the scene would have recognised the kind and gentle Court Physician of Camelot in this moment. Gaius' long since unused, but once strong magic, when it hit the other sorcerer, was white hot and untamed. "Don't you dare to drag him into this, you manipulative bastard" the healer hissed. "Or I swear I'll see to it that the worst days of Uther's great purge will look like a Sunday outing to you."

The pages of the book on the small table blackened and smouldered under the warlocks' rage. The Master Sorcerer gasped with a brief and intense pain before he could fence off the other man's onslaught for good. _Feeling _another's magic, and from a re-convalescing old man, was breathtaking after so many years of virtual invulnerability.

When Gaius' still feeble strength was spent, the Lord Druid also needed a moment before he could speak again.

"Do you think that's what I want, you stupid old crock? Emrys and Arthur, they've seen first-hand what this accursed book can do in the wrong hands. Do you think the Di'inshara ritual Llanfair used to enslave the Prince is the only piece of evil it contains? Centuries and centuries the guardians of demonic power have worked on it until their masterpiece was finally finished. All they ever knew about artificial magic is in there, ready for the taking by every overambitious and misguided man in Albion."

"Then why the hell don't _you_ go and take it back? It was your foolishness that kept it in your library, for Badagere to steal it for his friend Anwar of Llanfair." Gaius' voice was now cold and scathing. "You should have sacrificed the damn thing to the Dragons the moment you got hold of it. Instead you kept it, to 'study' it, as you said. To enhance your prestige, that's what I say. The great Demon Hunter, the persecutor of all evil! Something had to make you Lord Druid, and the Rashnijaan came to your hands at a very convenient time. Now I won't allow you to use our boys to pull _your_ chestnuts out of the fire."

"Are you saying that you would urge Uther to resume the persecution of magic and my people if I don't do as _you _say?"

"Quite so! But if the King were to find out that you as much as thought about dragging his son into this dangerous business, he'd resume the purge on his own accord."

"What about the Pendragons being here, in our power?" Arenboarth said sarcastically. "Shouldn't you at least consider that fact?"

"You may fool Merlin, not me, into believing that you'd hold Arthur hostage, harm him if necessary. I know what your precious doctrines of purity and non-violence mean to you. That's exactly why you always needed somebody else to do the dirty work."

Lost in thought, his former sarcasm vanished, the Lord Druid rubbed his hands as if they already _were_ dirty. "You're resolved then. Once more you put your loyalty to your friends before your duty to the Blessed Isle and to the greater good."

"Call it whatever you like, My Lord, your sanctimonious speeches will not change my mind. Merlin and Arthur have carried more than their due share of fighting for the greater good. As for the Blessed Isle, it's dead, in case you haven't noticed. And yes, one word from me about your plans to Uther and you and your people _will _need a burial place there. So you should cut your losses and retake the damn book yourself."

"I can't" Arenboarth replied. "Believe me or not, I am not capable to do it. I wasn't even able to retrieve its whereabouts from Antek, whatever I tried."

The healer snorted derisively. "This is ridiculous. A minute ago you were talking about letting _Arthur_ search for the bloody thing. It can't have it escaped your notice that the Prince has as much magic as a mule in the barn."

"Where the Prince leads, the warlock will follow. We both know that. It is my only chance to make sure that Emrys takes on the task. He has to find out where the Rashnijaan is, make sure that it is not brought back to life again, bring it here and call in Khilgarrah. Only the Great Dragon can destroy this abomination, if it is brought into our sacred grove in time." Arenboarth's tone became authoritative. "It must be done, Gaius, and if Arthur Pendragon is the only bait I have, so be it."

"Let me get that straight." It came out as a low growl from the growing darkness which had slowly begun to settle in the room as the candles burned low. "You would willingly accept that Uther's son would be either killed or fall prey to a Di'inshara again, that Merlin would most probably die in the attempt to help him and that all Albion would burn from one end to the other as soon as Uther were to learn that you were behind his son's downfall – all this to save yourself the trouble to go after the Book of Demons on your own?"

"Yes" Arenboarth shrugged dismissively. "For twenty years the Rashnijaan has fed on Anwar of Llanfair's soul. For a while it has even drained Arthur's life force. I am no longer a match for it. I'm dying, Gaius."

The shock of this revelation left the physician speechless for an instant. It was one thing to throw oneself between the power-abusing Lord Druid and the two young men he cherished. To learn that a man he had admired and almost loved for the better part of his life was going to die was something completely different. "But when you healed me two nights ago it was so easy…..,so effortless" Gaius finally managed to say. "How could you… I couldn't have done it, never."

"Where I lack the power you lack the education, for all your years in the healers' temple. Besides, you chose to abandon magical healing long ago, to pursue your so called science." After the briefest spell of weakness Arenboarth had more than regained his usual superciliousness and quiet arrogance. "When this summer goes I will go with it" he continued, as calm as if he were indeed talking about the weather. "My only hope to make good on the one big mistake in my life is an insolent peasant boy from Ealdor."

Arenboarth's last sentence had effectively crushed Gaius' sympathy for the man; crushed it enough to even suppress his professional curiosity as to the nature of the Lord Druid's illness. "As you said, Your Eminence" he replied. "_Your_ big mistake. Why not call for _your _children and natural heirs to make good on it?"

"Mirella is a woman. She has no access to the Rashnijaan."

Gaius snorted. "A woman can neither use it nor can she be corrupted by it. I haven't forgotten _that_ much, Arenboarth. But what about your son?"

"I do not have a son!"

The healer shook his head in exasperation. "You _do_ have a son. I helped him into this world."

Arenboarth's always somewhat haughty face became even more withdrawn and dismissive. "Marwon is a child of the Goddess. The companion the High Priestess received under the sacred moon of Beltain was of the Great Mother's choosing..."

"For the Gods' sake, Arenboarth, I was _there_ at the time. We all knew that Nimueh had a crush on you. The Great Mother's choosing my foot. The High Priestess took _you_ to her bed and nobody else. It was common gossip from one end of the Blessed Isle to the other. Of course Marwon is _your_ child. To think that you're still denying it after all those years."

"Don't fool yourself….." Arenboarth gave himself all the airs he could, but it didn't do him much good.

"I take it then that Marwon's magical powers do not live up to expectations" Gaius said. "Is that it?" and the Lord Druid's shoulders sank in embarrassment.

"He's better with the sword than with his magic" he muttered. "My own flesh and blood and he would be better off as a knight than as a Druid."

"So you insist that Merlin takes on the quest, voluntarily or under duress, although it would most probably cost him his life?"

Arenboarth returned the accusing stare firmly and with utter resolve. "Yes. If you try to talk Emrys out of it _I_ will talk Arthur _into_ going after the Rashnijaan and that will inevitably jeopardise Emrys even more. Should the Prince be captured, his protector would be at his captors' mercy as well. But let me have my way and at least Uther will take his boy home safely, I give you my word on that."

"Keep your empty promises to yourself, Your Eminence" Gaius spat. "I will talk to the King and this time neither Arthur nor Merlin will refuse him. We will be ready to leave in the morning."

With that the old healer turned to the door, brusquely showing his back to his counterpart.

"No, I think they would notrefuse you" Arenboarth sighed sadly. "And that's exactly why I can't allow you to leave."

The blow hit Gaius completely by surprise. The magical energy knocked him out cold in an instant, even before his feeble body sprawled out on the floor.

Arenboarth waited a second before he checked the other wizard's pulse. Finally the Master Sorcerer struggled back to his feet from the crouch at Gaius' side and swallowed painfully. "I am so sorry, old friend" he whispered before he called for his servants to help him.

His lament, when the servants arrived, was very convincing. Undoubtedly the patient had risen from his sickbed too early, paying the price for his foolishness by having a major setback that might last for weeks, even months. Unthinkable that Gaius was to travel anytime soon. Nor was he allowed any visitors until he had sufficiently recovered from this breakdown.

Under many expressions of sympathy the two young Druids carried the unconscious healer out, pushing the door of the library wide open in the process.

Invisible in the dark corner behind the door, a mortified Prince tried to melt into the wall as best as possible.

Arthur's original wish to intercept Gaius on his way out of the library, seeking his advice as to how to reconcile a stubborn magician with a hurt ego, was long forgotten. He had missed the old man by a mere second before Gaius had entered the room, but then the Prince had heard his name and what had been said had frozen him to the spot.

So Uther's son had heard what Gaius had wanted to keep from him at all costs. What the Rashnijaan was had quickly become clear to one who had felt its powers. With every word the picture in Arthur's mind had become clearer, more vivid.

He remembered the unused room in the vaults of Blackrock castle in which he had been kneeling in front of Anwar of Llanfair, with his wrists tied to two wooden posts. The lunatic's smile while he was mocking his desperate captive with stories of Uther Pendragon's imminent death was impossible to forget.

The old Llanfair wolf had relished in his threats. Just in case. Just in case that his captive should refuse him in anything. Arthur hadn't even known that he was submitting to the Di'inshara bondage when he had sworn the oath of total submission the old Count had read out for him to repeat, read from a most impressive volume, clad in fine brown leather in the colour of dried up human blood. The parchment had smelled of rotten things and old sulphur but the book's metal fittings had been made of gold, engraved with old runes and pictures of demonic creatures; the workmanship as superb as it had been appalling.

At the time all Arthur had realized was Llanfair's triumphant grin while he drank the Prince's blood, forcing his prisoner to drink his captor's blood in turn. Arthur still felt the lunatic's hand on his mouth, forcing him to either swallow the strangling mixture of bile and blood or suffocate. Now he couldn't comprehend anymore how on earth it had been possible to forget the book itself – until this very moment.

"_Shhhhh, little Dragon, it's all over, all is well. You're mine now. Mine forever, in body and soul._"

Arthur's eyes had actually been hooked to the book the second Anwar of Llanfair had started to caress his hair, then his fittings had been gleaming in the candle light. Somehow the demonic figures on them had come to life, dancing a mad dance of joy. Absurdly he had felt, with utter conviction, that the evil in this room came from this book alone; that without it Anwar of Llanfair would have been capable of nothing but scaring a small child to bed.

"_Please, may I see my father, please, I must talk to him._"

"_All in good time, little Dragon, all in good time_." Anwar's voice, gentle, soothing, very kind.

And afterwards….afterwards…...those eight days afterwards...

Unwittingly Arthur embraced himself. Having been oblivious to his surroundings, he flinched violently when the door began to swing back, robbing him of his cover, exposing him to the man in front of him.

"You've heard what we said!" Arenboarth stated.

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

The Lord Druid saw the pale face, the wide eyes and the fear in them which was so very unusual for this proud warrior. Regrettable that his room for maneouvres had been limited like this. Very regrettable. However... Arenboarth came to a spontaneous decision. "Your Highness will understand that this is nothing I can allow to be brought to your father's ears right now. You must come in. Please."

He let Arthur enter the library before he shut the door and locked it from the inside.


	12. Fatal decisions

**12. Fatal decisions**

Arenboarth saw the Prince's shoulders tense at the sound of the key turning in the lock.

"Just to make sure that nobody will disturb us." Pointedly the Druid left the key in the door. However the frightened young man he wanted to calm was no longer there. Uther hadn't brought up his only son and heir to let go of his composure easily. Or for very long.

"It's rather a precaution against me disturbing _your_ plans, wouldn't you agree?" Arthur shot back. "Friend or foe, Arenboarth. What would it be if I tried to force my way out of here right now?"

The Druid saw the usual rigid façade come up again in the handsome features and take away all traces of vulnerability. He sympathized deeply with the effort behind it while he raised his hands apologetically.

"I never was your enemy, My Prince. I am not your enemy now and I never will be. But I fear the table has been turned since last year. I must admit, I much preferred being Your Highnesses' selfless saviour over being the humble supplicant for your most gracious understanding of my predicament."

"I know the feeling" Arthur replied, a small grin forming on his lips despite his anger. "To be honest, I had to tell myself many times that you had gained your people's freedom for a reward, otherwise my debt of gratitude to you would have haunted my dreams."

Silently heaving a huge sigh of relief Arenboarth settled into the nearest chair. "From the look on your face a moment ago I dare say you had other scares that haunted your sleep" he said cautiously, softly moaning for the pain in his limps. "That's what's giving me the courage to ask for your support, although you've caught me red-handed."

A shadow of the memories he had been reliving wiped the smile off the young Pendragon's face and he shuddered visibly. "Let's not beat around the bush, My Lord Druid" he said decisively, already ashamed of his momentary weakness. "You're not going to knock me out like you did Gaius. You'd be too hard put to find an explanation. Which means, you and I are going for a deal with the devil and before we start haggling, we have to get some things straight. I absolutely detest what you did to Gaius, I detest your plans to use Merlin's fondness for you or his loyalty to me to press him into getting himself killed or worse. I will not permit it, is that clear?"

The Lord Druid was very surprised when he felt his anger rise. He had been sure he had made his peace with life and found tranquillity. But to be spoken to like that…..

The Prince saw that the other man wanted to protest but he couldn't have cared less. "We are going to talk about what you want and what I, and I alone, am going to do. As you so aptly put it: I will not leave this quest to anybody else, especially not to Merlin."

"Arthur, this is ridiculous" a very rattled Arenboarth tried to regain control of things before it was too late. "I never thought you could go for the Rashnijaan alone. Tricking you into taking the lead of _Emry's_ journey was my very last resort, nothing else."

"My terms stand. Merlin will not come near this thing or I'll find a way to make you regret that he did."

"Your father would have my head and that of each and everyone in my tribe for this and not even I would blame him. It's you who shouldn't come near the accursed book, you having..."

...As much magic as a mule in the barn, I heard you and Gaius very well. But you also said that I felt the Rashnijaan's powers first hand. I may not know much about magic but I do know that whatever came from that book to bind me to Anwar of Llanfair had nothing, absolutely nothing, in common with what fills Merlin's soul. The book's spell is not from this world, Arenboarth. It's utterly unnatural, the kind of perverted power that corrupts a soul forever, the kind of magic my father always used to confuse with the real thing."

Instinctively the Lord Druid recoiled a bit from the passionate outbreak. "With all due respect, Sire, I do not think you can …..."

"Oh yes I can" Arthur continued to drown out the Druid's objections. "I was completely at Anwar's mercy, neither my body nor my mind was mine to control, nothing I felt or thought was safe from him. But while he enslaved me he unwittingly showed me a lot about himself. He wasn't the master of the Rashnijaan, the book had subjugated _him_, Arenboarth, of that I'm sure."

With the Prince's last words the Master Sorcerer's face had taken on a superior attitude that was unusually supercilious even for him. He smiled in a most patronizing way when Arthur broke off. "Come, come Your Highness, you're poaching in my field of expertise now. It is common knowledge that non-magic people can borrow powers from a demonic energy in another dimension in the layers of existence and the Book of Demons is merely a gateway..."

"Oh, spare me the half-baked lecture, I am not Marwon, I'm not cringing in adoration at your every word. You have once opened the Rashnijaan, to harness it for your ambition and you have closed it only just in time before it became your master. You above everyone else should know what its artificial magic would do to a real warlock and his inborn magic, were he exposed to it. Merlin must ever come near this thing."

"Emrys has survived the dark spell he used to build the bridge between life and death that saved Antek. And he has lived through Anwar's final attack against you. I would have thought _that_ to be impossible and yet he came out of it, unscathed."

"No he did not."

Arenboarth frowned. "What do you mean by that? My powers aren't that dilapidated yet. I would have felt it if his magic had been tainted..."

"I am not talking about his precious gifts, I am speaking about what and how he feels, just in case there is somebody else in this world who gives a damn about that. Let's just say I am not the only one of Gaius' patients who's frequently suffering from nightmares." Arthur sounded definitely snappy and it gave more away than he had wanted to reveal.

"Speaking about Emry's feelings it was my intention to ask Your Highness about the great plan behind you continuously putting his nose out of joint" Arenboarth replied drily. "First you run after Antek, of all people, then you choose to ignore our young warlock as if he was a tree in the woods."

As a result Arthur sighed and rubbed his eyes. "All right, I had that one coming. But let's not stray from our subject, yes? We both know that sending a magician after the book can be a risky business. His gift could wake the Rashnijaan prematurely. As I do not have magic, the book cannot use it against me."

"If you say so, My Prince." Arenboarth didn't know if just indulging him would be the best way to get through to Arthur's common sense but he was perfectly willing to give it a try.

However, the old Druid was rattled out of his comfortable self-assuredness by the Prince's next words. "You did not give Gaius the real reason why you cannot go after the Rashnijaan yourself!"

Arenboarth flinched violently and Arthur felt some satisfaction that his surprise shot should have hit home so nicely. He had never believed in the 'dying part' from the start.

"Go on master mind" the Druid said coldly. "If it isn't my illness that's keeping me here what is it?"

"You are a Master Sorcerer, with all the training and the centuries old experience the Blessed Isle and the great orders of magicians could give you, and yet not even you dared to open the Rashnijaan a second time. But you did not destroy it either, did you. One glimpse, one minute of weakness, Arenboarth, and it has tied your hands forever. Is that not so, My Lord Druid of the Blessed Isle?"

"I had no idea that Gaius has told you that much" Arenboarth replied very quietly, after a long moment of silence. "I wouldn't have thought that of him."

"He told me nothing" Arthur said tiredly, now that most of his rash anger was spent. "Fact is, I knew your face before I first set eyes on you. Your shadow still is in the Rashnijaan, the damn thing _remembers_ you. Anwar made me see you sitting bend over its pages, with hunger in your eyes but fear in your face. He laughed at your weakness when he should have cried about his own."

Arenboarth swallowed hard. Suppressing a gasp of pain he furtively pulled the collar of his robe away from his throat. Panic filled his mind for a moment. Time was running out so quickly now. How to tell this stubborn young man that he was getting it all wrong and right at the same time?

"It's...it's not easy for me to accept that things like these are known to someone who isn't even a magician, let alone an adept of the Isle" the Druid said, playing for time. If only the pain would subside, allow him to think straight.

"That's no excuse for trying to lead me up the garden path with your fancy talk about dimensions or layers of existence. I am not a fool!"

"Yes, you are if you think you could take on the Rashnijaan without a skilled magician's help. For your father's sake, your wife's and child's sake, Arthur, I implore you to see reason in this!" The Druid drew a deep breath. Pride had been the only one of his shortcomings he had never conquered but this would cost him the last shreds of it. "I can't hinder you to go on this quest head over heels. But please, My Prince, I beg of you. After all what has happened, let me not die in the knowledge that it has all been for nothing. Allow me to go to Avalon knowing that my people are safe and that the foretold golden age is coming for Camelot, in spite of my mistakes."

"Then maybe its your guilty conscience that's blinding you" Arthur said unruffled. "Or else you'd see that I am the perfect choice. I surely can not be seduced by the Rashnijaan's promise of riches and power, I know the truth too well. Besides, the book depends on a living human soul and body to yield its powers, a man fool enough to trying harness it to his purpose while it's really the book that harnesses _him_. As the men who are behind the attempted abductions obviously haven't found the Rashnijaan yet, we can be pretty sure that the book is sleeping. It will still be sleeping when I bring it back to you for its final destruction."

"If things are so easy, why not let Emrys come with you? He's come in handy on a journey before, hasn't he?"

"I do not want him there and that's final! He's done enough already."

"_Speaking of __**my **__guilty conscience!" _Arenboarth thought wearily. "_Oh, Arthur! Like father, like son. What good does you risking your life do to any__one? A simple apology is what Emrys needs! Can't you just admit that he was right and you were wrong in judging Antek's reliability?_"

"So what exactly is the plan, Your Highness?" No use arguing with a solid Pendragon-style wall of wishful thinking and deliberate self-delusion. "After all we don't even know where we could start looking for the Rashnijaan. Young Count of Llanfair was a dead end."

"I do have a pretty good idea where to look for the bloody thing. Antek may not like it, but he will come with me. I count on you to find an excuse to keep Merlin here until we return."

"And what do you think your father will have to say to you vanishing once again into the mists, and with Antek of Llanfair at your side?"

"His Majesty will think that I have completely lost my mind, most probably he will gather that I am going to head a full scale rebellion against his rule. However, this can't be helped. Serves him right anyway. At least it will make him take Guinivere and our son back to Camelot as fast as they all can ride. There will be plenty of time to put things right as soon as I am back."

Inwardly Arenboarth moaned desperately. For all his resolve to keep up the pretence that he agreed with Arthur - this was too much for him. "Don't you think that there may be a point from where you cannot find a way back to your father? You are going to overtax an angel's indulgence with this, let alone the rudimentary thing a Pendragon has for patience."

"King Uther waiting for a rebellion means Camelot will be at full alert for months to come. After what has happened so far that is a very comforting thought for me, especially as that rebellion will not take place."

Feeling the pain once more clutching his heart and body, Arenboarth raised his hands in surrender. The time for arguing was over. "All right, it shall be as you wish. I will see to it that your family and your men reach the safety of Camelot as soon as possible. This includes your friend Leon and his wife."

Fleetingly Arthur wondered why Arenboarth not even now could bring himself to call Mirella 'my daughter'. When it came to fatherly stubbornness the former High Priest of the Blessed Isle could have been Uther's brother.

"And I will find a way to keep Emrys here until you come back and it's time to call in the Great Dragon" Arenboarth continued. "Or will Your Highness do that bit, too?"

Arthur decided to let that go unchallenged. "So we are clear on that now" he stated. "Antek and I will leave tonight. That should give us plenty of a head start. Nobody should notice my absence before tomorrow morning."

With his final words Arthur had gone to the door and unlocked it. Before he went out he turned back a last time. "Please, Arenboarth. I rely on you."

"Yes, you do. I know you do!" the Lord Druid said calmly. "_Would you please go now, son"_ he thought. "_I am an old, sick man and saving you from yourself will be a taxing business_."

Arthur nodded and left. For the first time in many a month the old spring was in his step. To go for the Rashnijaan himself had been a very spontaneous decision, maybe the most spontaneous decision in his life, made in the two or three minutes between Arenboarth finding him behind and then locking the library door.

But Arthur knew, just knew without a single doubt, that it would bring his life back on the right path. The thoughts that had tormented him in Blanchefleur had never left him. After the Book of Demons' destruction people would no longer see the Crown Prince of Camelot as the helpless prisoner he had been. Merlin would no longer see a fragile weakling who needed protection when he looked at his Prince.

Back in Blanchefleur Arthur had vowed to himself that the time of helplessness and weakness would end. He would not allow old Anwar of Llanfair to destroy his former prisoner's life. As Arthur Pendragon had been made a slave by the Rashnijaan it would be for Arthur Pendragon, and him alone, to have the damned thing destroyed; it was that simple.

No more feeling like an invalid. No more being treated like a child by people who once had been used to looking up to him. And most of all, the Rashnijaan would never reveal what old Llanfair had done to his prisoner, especially not to Merlin.

Anwar had been able to let the young warlock see what was happening to his royal friend or hide it at will. Eight days had passed between the Di'inshara-ritual and the fateful 'hunting-trip' that had instigated the Pendragons' escape from Blackrock. For these eight days the old Count had kept Arthur's fate hidden from the wizard. As soon as the Rashnijaan was gone, the memories from these eight days would be for Arthur Pendragon to share or conceal as he saw fit. And that was exactly as he wanted it to be.

At the Prince's arrival in his own quarters he was rewarded with Guinivere's happy smile. "Arthur, you're back."

"It would appear so!"

"You've sure taken your time. How did it go with Merlin?"

"Oh, very well. Even he can see reason from time to time."

Guinivere laid her arms around her husband's neck and kissed him passionately. "I told you, all it needed was a little complaisance from your side and he would jump at the opportunity to make amends. He could never refuse you anything."

"Yes, you were right. Aren't you always" Arthur replied while he pulled her even closer. Saying good bye without actually saying it was a lot harder than he had thought. "However, sweetheart, there is something I have to do to get things right. I must talk to Merco. And to Antek."

Abruptly she left his embrace. "Why on earth should you do that? All Llanfairs can go and rot for all I care. If you ask me..."

"Which I don't" her husband tried to throw in.

"If you ask me" she ignored him "you better use the momentum to make it up with your father, while you are at it."

"I will" he quickly said. "I promise. Anyway, you shouldn't wait for me. I will come back only later tonight. Please promise me that you will not wait for me. You need as much sleep as you can get. How is the new wet nurse by the way?"

The distraction worked a treat. "Oh, she is fine. Little Thomas is doing very well. But, Arthur..."

"I will just go and say good night to our son" her husband said quickly. "Before he drops off." He pecked a final kiss on her lips and went to the other room where the cradle stood. Silently he looked down at his little son who was very comfortably gurgling to himself. The young Druid woman who had agreed to nourish him whilst they were staying in the village smiled softly. "He has a monstrous appetite. Between him and my own son I will never have to complain of having too much milk."

"I haven't yet thanked you for your gracious offer..." Arthur began but she dismissed his thanks with a small wave of her hand. "When King Uther first came here last year we all had reason to think that you would never live to have a son. In fact we had reason to believe that, for all our attempts to help you, your father's grieve over your death would eventually find consolation in ending the Druids' existence once and for all. Now our two peoples are at peace and both our sons have a chance to live a happy life. That's all the reward I need."

Somewhat embarrassed, Arthur only nodded while he stroked his son's soft cheek with a finger. "Good bye, little Thomas" he whispered gently. "I will make you proud. You will never be ashamed of being my son. I promise."

He was already half through the other door when Guinivere shot into the impromptu nursery. "Arthur, wait, I ….."

"Love you! And don't forget, I will be back very late" the Prince called back and made haste to get out.

Angrily Guinivere frowned. That was no proper way to leave her. Really, Arthur could be too supercilious to bear sometimes. She looked at the young Druid and shrugged. "Men!" she said with heartfelt emphasis. "They are all the same, aren't they!"

Still pondering the Prince's peculiar words to his son the Druid returned her gaze steadily. "_If I were you My Lady, I would follow my husband and make sure he isn't up to anything foolish"_ she thought. "_I know that look from my own would-be hero_."

But she didn't say it. Last year Guinivere had been just another young woman fearing – and fighting – for the man she loved. To this young woman a Druid had been able to talk freely. Now the young woman had become a Pendragon Princess. The peace was still a very new thing. Fragile. Best left alone. Her father-in-law had made that very clear to everyone.

"Yes, My Lady" the young Druid said, softly rocking the cradle.

Guinivere shrugged again and went back to her own room, leaving Marwon's wife to her own musings.


	13. Prodigal Prince

**13. Prodigal Prince  
**

Ever since the young Druids had carried an unconscious Gaius into his quarters, Merlin had trouble breathing. "_This is my fault. This is my fault_" his mind kept repeating. "_If I hadn't overtaxed him with my silly ramblings this had never happened._"

Rattled by his fear he had given Merco hell when the Llanfair healer had rushed in to look after his colleague, until the physician had confined the fretting warlock to the back chamber most energetically. In vain Merlin had most haughtily insisted that he, after what Antek's men had done to him, had no reason whatsoever to heed anything a Llanfair man said. Like Gaius, Merco knew how to bring his foot down if it was necessary.

Or maybe Merlin wasn't so very good at being haughty and lordly, for all he had had the Crown Prince of Camelot for an inspirational example.

Now the wizard was tossing around on the cot in the corner by the window. There was no thought of resting anyway; Gaius had been all limp and lifeless, a horrible sight.

Desperately Merlin pricked his ears for some clues as to what was going on in the room next door. When he couldn't stand it any longer, he marched back to the entrance, utterly resolved to have a few answers from Mercator, no matter what.

The warlock had hardly made a few steps when he heard someone storm into Gaius' room, strong boots clattering on the stone floor, thudding even on the thick colourful wool carpets that covered most of the ground.

"How is he? Damn you, what are you doing here?"

The young wizard flinched when he heard King Uther's voice and his mood and self-confidence dropped a few more degrees, well beyond zero. Merlin's childish reaction to Arthur's gawky attempt at an apology and reconciliation might well have caused Gaius' relapse in the first place. Surely Uther wouldn't be too pleased to hear about _that_, not while he was at odds with his son and relied on the two sorcerers to take care of the Prince.

"As Count Llanfair's Court Physician I'm more than capable to look after my colleague, Your Majesty..." Merco began, but the King had no wish to speak to a Llanfair man, not now, not ever. "Get lost!" When Merco didn't stir, Uther lost the last meagre shreds of his patience. "OUT I said, before I'll have my guards on you. Merlin? MERLIN! Where is that wretched boy?"

The warlock swallowed hard and trotted into the room with his head already hanging low, awaiting the inevitable. He came just in time to see a mortified Merco bow and hurry out.

"Ah, there you are at last, what are you dallying back there while Gaius is so ill? Blast it, what kind of a sorcerer are you? _Do_ something about it! _Now_!"

"You should not have sent Merco away. He's a very good physician..." Merlin objected meekly, but it was no good.

"I know _exactly_ who he is. He's the one who's kept my son as a slave before Anwar handed Arthur over to this bastard Antek. What happened to Gaius, huh? Answer me, are you deaf?"

Merlin looked into the King's angry face and all of a sudden he saw how much Uther had aged over the last few months, how haggard he looked, how much anguish lingered behind all the anger and the arrogant aggressiveness of his behaviour.

"Gaius was at Arenboarth's, just for a chat, but after a while he collapsed" the warlock stammered. "Must have been a relapse, Arenboarth had said he should not get up too early..."

"And where is our most august Lord Druid now? He for one seems to know what to do about Gaius' ailings. Go and fetch him!" Uther sat down at Gaius' side and took the old man's hand, as if it was something very precious to him.

"Yes, Sire." At times there was no other possible answer to Uther Pendragon.

Merlin ran to Arenboarth's quarters as fast as he possibly could. He barely knocked before he rushed in, cursing desperately under his breath when he couldn't find the Lord Druid. Until he reached the library door. It was a bit ajar, light shone from the room into the darker corridor. "Arenboarth? Arenboarth, are you in there?" Belatedly Merlin remembered at least some of his manners. "My Lord Druid? Where..."

The warlock braced himself against the door as it did not open further. He heard something soft but heavy being shoved over the floor when the solid oak door slowly gave way. Curiously he peeped around the wooden edge at what was obstructing the door.

At first Merlin did not understand what he was seeing. Where the door had shoved the heap of clothes, the floor was smeared with fresh blood. The twisted bundle made peculiar rasping sounds while more blood came from somewhere underneath.

With a strangled scream Merlin knelt down at Arenboarth's side, tried to rouse him, spoke to him, finally turned the unresponsive body on his back.

The Lord Druid's eyes were closed, his face covered with blood from his mouth and nose, his every breath rattled in his lungs, gurgled in his throat and finally the warlock realized that he was looking at the severest case of pulmonary haemorrhage he had ever seen.

"Help me. Somebody help me. Marwon. Merco. Anyone..." Merlin only stopped screaming when Marwon and his wife Agneta came rushing to Arenboarth's aid, closely followed by Mirella and her husband Sir Leon. At any other time Merlin would have smirked at that. Apparently not all members of Arenboarth's close circle were at odds with Mirella marrying a Knight of Camelot.

Mirella muttered a spell and the old Druid's bleeding ended while the soft light of her magic still enveloped his chest. At last the terrifying sound of the laboured breathing faded and Arenboarth sank into something like a normal sleep after Marwon and the others had brought him to bed. Mirella volunteered to stay with her father.

"Damn it, it's like a curse" Marwon said while they reluctantly left the ailing man. "First Gaius, now my fath...our Lord Arenboarth." He stumbled over his own words when Agneta gave him a warning glance. Her father in law was _very_ particular about _not_ mentioning the real relationship between him and Marwon. It was something she never accepted but had learned to live with long ago.

Emrys, however, seemed absent minded anyway. Curtly, almost coarsely the warlock took his leave from the Druids, muttering that he had to go back to the King. Agneta looked after him musingly. First Arthur's strange behaviour, now this unusual rudeness from his wizard friend. But then she looked at her crestfallen husband and forgot about the others. She had more than her hands full with her own family.

When Merlin broke the news to Uther, the King was not very pleased to hear it, to say the very least. In fact, the vexed Pendragon called all hell to earth - and on his son's head, for bringing him and the others into this mess in the first place. Merlin's ears were ringing when he left the King and the still sleeping Gaius again, this time with the stern order to look for the unfortunate Merco and bring him back, "to drag him back by the hairs if needs be", as Uther had phrased it in his usual bluntness.

However, again Merlin's cause was a lost one from the start. Merco was nowhere to be found. Finally, the warlock put all his pride and anger aside and made for the quarters Antek of Llanfair had been given, if one chose to call the securely locked cottage with the barred windows 'quarters'. The Druids weren't very keen on prisons or other restraints, but this time it wouldn't have needed King Uther's persistence to convince Arenboarth that this young man was better be secured.

The queasiness in Merlin's stomach grew as he approached the house and became outright nausea when he found the door unlocked, the guard gone and the lodgings deserted.

With a sickening feeling of inevitability the young wizard saw the hastily written letter on a table. Arthur's hand. Only a few words. So His Highness had found himself and his fellow aristocrat some kind of a quest. All that was left to do for his ex-servant, ex-friend and ex-protector was to inform the King, the Prince's wife and all the others who had thought themselves to be close and dear, or at least not all together insignificant to Arthur Pendragon, that their Prince had left them without so much as saying good-bye.

Merlin spent the next few hours in the forest near Antek's lodging's, well hidden by the night, the brushwood and a hiding spell for which neither Marwon, Agneta or one of the others were a match. They called for him and Arthur until their throats became sore but he did not stir. Not when Uther roared in anger, not when Gwen anxiously called for them both or when Leon almost touched him when he passed him by in his desperate search.

Finally they gave it up and returned to their homes, talking of starting another search at the first light of dawn.

Agneta was the last one to give up on finding Prince and warlock. She was almost sickened by the thought that she should have guessed what was coming but had done nothing to prevent it. In the end Marwon virtually dragged her back home.

As soon as it had become quiet, when only the furtive sounds of a forest night surrounded him, Merlin rose again. Never before in his life had he felt like he felt now. Abandoned. Hurt. Humiliated. Cast aside like so much dirt.

His head ached and in his stomach a thousand ants were crawling. Kings, Princes, Knights, the whole godforsaken bunch could go and rot for all the warlock cared. Why had he ever thought they were important? They had never given a damn about him, never. He was a peasant, expendable, unimportant. To hell with the arrogant bastards, every single one of them. They had never been his friends in the first place.

But Arthur would _not_ get away with that. He would not let him. He would find the Royal asshole, tell him what he thought about this and then leave him and his bloody destiny for good, never to return. Never, never, never!

Merlin almost lost his way in the dark when his eyes spilled over and blinded him. Naturally he wasn't crying. He would _not_ cry! They weren't worth his tears. Who cared about them and their friendship anyway? Not even Gaius was on Merlin's side, but who cared? Certainly not a young warlock who could go anywhere, do anything he liked.

To think that he should have given up a life with the Druids, with his own magical kind in order to follow the Pendragons. That the great Emrys should have made a fool of himself, even fall out with Arenboarth, to run after a bunch of ungrateful, aristocratic idiots!

Furiously Merlin wiped his eyes again and again. Only in the very last moment he found Uther's quarters and shoved Arthur's letter through the slid under the door, for the King to find the epistle in the morning. Doubtlessly Pendragon would have a few words to say to his son about this as soon as the two would meet again and Merlin felt a deep, black and malicious satisfaction when he thought about this meeting.

The warlock snuffled angrily when he left the village and went into the forest, barely able to see the tracks he followed through the haze of tears, the tracks of three men and three horses who had taken this way before him. He knew that he was following Arthur's footsteps as he had done so often before, hunting, fighting or just walking comfortably together, or so he had thought, soft-headed idiot that he had been.

The Prince had covered their tracks thoroughly but not thoroughly enough for a powerful warlock who happened to know Arthur Pendragon's habits like the back of his hand. Merlin hardly needed his magic to support him while he walked deeper and deeper into the forest.

He never even noticed that the tracks were leading straight towards a place he had thought he'd never go near again. His mind was too busy repeating the words of Arthur's letter, over and over again.

At least the first two passages of this letter. For the third passage the mortified sorcerer had never read. Arthur's urgent plea to his warlock friend to speak to Arenboarth before planning his next steps and the Prince's strong assurance that he relied on his friend to keep his family safe were still unknown to Merlin.

The wizard had not even seen that something had been written on the backside of the parchment.

Too firmly he had believed that he had assumed correctly earlier. Now that the Royal could choose between a peasant warlock and an aristocrat so much closer to his own station in life and upbringing, Arthur had ditched his commoner friend.

The Prince no longer needed him. It was _that_ obvious to Merlin, beyond any reasonable doubt. And again the hot rage and hurt rose inside him, dominating his thoughts and feelings entirely.

Even now, while he walked between the trees and bushes through the night, much escaped the warlock's attention that normally would have caught his ears or eyes, even though Arthur's keen instincts were not there to keep the wizard alert.

Instead Merlin walked on and on, oblivious to his surroundings, until he finally reached the three men he was looking for.

As it was, the warlock never noticed what was going on in his back where slowly but inescapably the Druids' village and all its inhabitants were trapped.


	14. Unfortunate encounters

**14. ****Unfortunate encounters**

Merlin held his breath while he watched Arthur, Antek and Merco. It wasn't easy, as anger and hurt still made him itchy all over from impatience and restlessness. Actually, lying still was a torment as he still wanted to fidget and kick and slam his fist against something.

"I reckon Blackrock is only two hours away from here, don't you think so?" Arthur had just said and only now the scales fell from Merlin's eyes. Of course. This was the way that led from the Llanfair stronghold to the old forest camp of Arenboarth's tribe! The new village was not so very far away from it, just on the Camelot side of the border.

"If Your Royal Highness says so" Antek replied truculently.

Merco murmured something and his Count pouted defiantly, but kept his mouth shut afterwards. Arthur rolled his eyes heavenwards and visibly gave up on them both.

The old healer, looking more like a weasel than before in his ragged brown cloak, shivered and crept closer to the little fire.

"Are you still cold?" Antek sounded genuinely concerned. "If you feel poorly….this is your fault, you merciless bastard, for dragging us here at this time of night" he accused Arthur passionately.

Merco made haste to avoid another fight between the two. "I'm fine. But perhaps Prince Arthur could tell us now what this is all about."

"I'm searching for something that belonged to your father, Antek. It is what these brutes who bought Merlin from you want to possess at all costs. We go to Blackrock, take it, bring it back to Arenboarth who will destroy it. It's simple enough."

"How dare you?" Antek flared up in an instant. "It's my inheritance you're speaking about. It's worth a King's ransom and I won't…"

"Quite right, you won't" Arthur interrupted him brutally. "You will _not_ go for King Uther or for Merlin or for anybody else, just to lay your hand on some blood money even your father would have been ashamed to take!"

Merlin flinched when the thought struck him that his royal friend might be on this quest to abolish whatever danger was threatening all of them. The warlock had, however, only begun to feel slightly embarrassed, when he had to bite into his own arm to stifle a yelp of joy whilst he silently pedalled with his feet in the air behind his bottom. Count Llanfair had made the fundamental mistake to fly at the Crown Prince of Camelot in uncontrolled wrath.

Only a minute later Antek found himself on the ground with a bleeding nose, with said Crown Prince holding his head by the hair, hissing like an angered snake. "Now listen, matey, and listen carefully. Try that again and I forget that we've ever been friends, I swear I'll skin you alive. After what you've done, you should eat humble pie for the rest of your godforsaken life."

Merco slowly rose; his legs visibly shaking. "Arthur please…" he begged. "He didn't mean it."

"Yes he did. He meant every word of it." With a disgusted grimace, the Prince pushed Antek's face to the ground before he rose himself.

"Please, I beg you. For my sake. Leave him alone."

"All right. For your sake. And also for your sake I tell you this: As soon as I'm back home, I'll call in a sum of money that by right belongs to me alone and you can use it for the resurrection of Blackrock, as long as I never hear or see anything from the Llanfairs again, not now, not ever. Do you understand?"

Antek looked up while he held his nose. "How much?" he mumbled brazenly.

Arthur got ready to jump on him again and Antek pulled back, looking like a hurt toad from Merlin's point of view. Smirking evilly the warlock waited for the next impact of a princely fist on the Count's abominably handsome face, when Arthur all of a sudden changed direction and burst into the shrub that hid the young wizard from sight. As always in such dire straits, Merlin's magic wasn't good for anything. First, he couldn't use it against his Prince and second, Arthur was too fast for him any road.

"Ow, ow, let me go you big oaf. Ow!" Merlin yelped and kicked for all he was worth while a relentless Pendragon dragged him into the small campsite by the neck like a half drowned whelp. Once there, Arthur let his victim fall as if he were a lump of clay. Merlin tried to scramble back to his feet but was pushed back. Roughly enough to gather that he'd better stay where he was.

In a singular reaction of fear and shock, Arthur's stomach had climbed up into his throat while his heart had sunk into his boots. He could hardly believe that his warlock, this clumsy, stupid imbecile he had wanted to keep away from this at all costs, was actually here, before his very eyes, much closer to the accursed Blackrock rubble than he'd ever wanted him to be. As the royal wasn't used to being _that_ terrified, his over-boiling emotions searched - and found - a way to relieve themselves.

"Blast you, you hare-brained nitwit, which part of 'stay back and protect my family and yourself' you didn't understand this time" Arthur roared. When he was angry enough – and Merlin was cursed with the talent to provoke him such – his voice and the glare that went with it could be extremely intimidating. "Damn your bloody obstinacy, you couldn't do as you're told if your life depended on it. Must I tie you down and lock you in before I can have a moment's peace from you?"

"I… I wanted…. I thought…"

"No, Merlin you did not think at all. You just wanted to get your way, as always. That loaf in your skull is good for nothing but causing _me_ headaches."

The wizard cowered on the ground and made himself small, his own anger and resentfulness momentarily forgotten under the violent onslaught of this unrestrained fury. And yet his old insolence already stiffened his neck.

"What did you think you were doing, huh? Damn it, answer me!" Pendragon wasn't done yet.

"You just said that I _can't_ think." The defiant repartee was out before Merlin could prevent it and for a second he was sure Arthur would hit him.

Instead he whined in shock when he was dragged upright by his neckerchief, what at least saved him from talking any more provocative nonsense. "I'll tell you what you're going to do" the Prince raged on, "you're turning back this instant, and if you're not in the village, at my father's and Arenboarth's command, by this evening, I'll give you hell before I chuck you out of Camelot for good! Understood?"

Merlin silently denied that, but he wasn't sure that Arthur could see it as he was shaking the warlock mercilessly, until Merlin was fed up with it. "Let go of me. I can go where I want. You do it all the time, no matter how much you hurt people."

The Prince paled and let go. "Merlin, for the last time: Go away. I mean it" he said dead seriously.

Antek, jolly glad that he had been ignored by both of them so far, laid a protective arm around Merco's shoulder. The healer had been tending to the young Count's broken nose, leaving Prince and warlock to their quarrels.

"Arthur!" Llanfair said urgently.

When the Prince didn't hear him, he repeated it louder. "_**Arthur!**_ Turn around."

"I'd rather Your Highness stayed as you were" a derisive voice said in the Prince's back.

Ignoring that, Pendragon spun around while Merlin jumped to his side in the blink of an eye. Alas, the wizard's stomach cramped when almost twenty armed men left the tree line's shelter, ready to fight. A quick look over his shoulder told the Crown Prince that other men had emerged from the forest in their back. They were surrounded.

The royal couldn't believe it. Arthur Pendragon, the great warrior, had been caught like a bloody greenhorn with his pants down!

Briefly he glared at Merlin, his eyes telling a clear and concise message: "_This is your fault. If it hadn't been for you, I'd heard them coming an hour ago!_"

However, there was no time for due repercussions right now. "What do you want?" he asked commandingly.

"Your warlock friend and something that belongs to young Count Llanfair here" the leader said warily. "Give them to me and you and this old scarecrow can go where you please."

Before Arthur could reply something a small, fidgeting man appeared at the sturdy warrior's side, with a slimy grin on his face, and both Prince and warlock felt their jaws fall down. "_Trickler?_"

"I say we take them all" King Alined's official Court Jester and unofficial Court Sorcerer squeaked, his voice trembling from agitation. "His Majesty will know what to do with them."

"You're welcome to try" Arthur snarled, sword ready and in a defensive stance.

"C'me on lad" the soldier's leader said calmly. "25 against four, one of you an old tottering crock and your sorcerer a mere whelp. Give it up while you can still walk."

"Arthur, perhaps…" Antek began to say, his worried gaze glued on Merco's pale and frightened face but that was as far as he came.

"Merlin" Arthur yelled and reflexively, as if they had trained it for years – which, in a way, they had – he and the wizard turned back to back, Merlin's eyes flashed in an intensive golden light and the whole line of soldiers in Arthur's back were blown into the forest. They wouldn't be back soon, as Merlin knew for sure. Some of them would never rise again.

Trickler retreated into the shrubs behind him with a frightened whimper, but the majority of the remaining fighters roared furiously as they came for the Prince and Llanfair, who, in his despair, raised a branch to defend his defenceless friend. Over his dead body they would come through to old Merco!

Arthur's blade whirled through the air, disabling two of the attackers in the first minute, but what use was his mastery of the sword when he was the only able fighter against all the other trained warriors?

Only that they weren't as many as they had been before by the time Arthur brought down a third, then a fourth man.

Merlin had dodged a sword blow by a hair's breadth and now muttered another spell rapidly. Some of the remaining attackers let go of their swords and screamed when the hilts began to bite into their hands, as the warlock had turned the blades, together with the remaining knifes and weapons, into living snakes. The men got mad and frantically thrashed around on the ground as the ugly, venomous looking beasts crawled all over their bodies.

"Antek!" a panicking Merco yelled, when his beloved Count was hit by a sword from behind that brought him to his knees. But there was no need to worry. "Forbearan!" Merlin said, and the attacker ran off at top speed as a column of raging fire rose between him and his victim.

Panting heavily, the warlock turned to see how his Prince was faring and a relieved grin spread on his face, as in this second the attackers' leader commanded "fall back. Retreat!"

"Merlin, watch out!" Pendragon screamed.

Not for the life of his the wizard knew what this warning was about. He was surprised as he suddenly stumbled and fell to his knees. Astounded, without any idea what was happening he stared at the end of the arrow that stuck in his chest. "Arthur, what….?" But he couldn't finish his question. Blood sprang from the wound, much blood, much more than one would have thought could come from such a tiny cut. Suddenly the pain was there, jumping on him, biting, as if it were something that came from outside his body, like a ravenous animal.

Merlin's sight became blurred; he had difficulties to keep his eyes open. Through a haze he saw Arthur ran towards him, shouting something he didn't understand. When three arrows hit the ground before his feet, the Prince halted.

"Give it up, My Lord. Before somebody else gets hurt."

Merlin's lids fluttered and closed. The rest was a stream of senseless noise until he stopped hearing altogether. The pain went away and he fell, fell softly and slowly into a world of cosy warmth and darkness.

How very much he would've liked to stay where he was, but after what might've been a lifetime or a span of five minutes the world called him back. Or rather, an angry voice. Antek of Llanfair's angry voice, to be precise. "I tell you, I've no idea where the damn thing is. If your idiot guard hadn't knocked Arthur around the head, he could tell you. I'm sorry but you'll have to wait until he comes to!"

"But you're sure it's hidden somewhere in the rubble at Blackrock?"

"_Trickler_" Merlin thought reflexively. "_So many people got killed in Uther's purge and this whining, cowardly, arse-crawling excuse for a magician had to make it to Alined's door step! Fate and Providence, you're both imbeciles, that's for sure!_" Only afterwards he noticed that he had no idea who 'Trickler' or 'Uther' might be.

"No, I'm not" Antek replied, frustration plain in his voice. "Arthur is. That's all I know."

"That stiff necked young rascal will never talk" a grumpy, hoarse voice spat. Belatedly Merlin identified the attackers' commander. "If Pendragon hadn't struggled like a madman even after he was disarmed and defenceless, I'd had no need to knock him out."

"He will talk. His little pet sorcerer is at your mercy. That's all you need." Antek sounded definitely murderous now. "There's no need to further hurt the Prince himself. Your King wouldn't take a shine to the trouble it could bring."

The soldier snorted "Arthur knows that we want the magician alive. Thanks to your and your so called physician's foolishness."

"That's as maybe. Merco and I will leave you now. I trust you've got everything you need."

"Hold up a minute, Your Grace. You're going nowhere until we've got what we want."

"But I'm useless to you now."

"Pendragon hasn't dragged you along for nothing. After all you say he already knows where to look. So you stay until we're done and there's an end to it."

Merlin would never know what Antek had wanted to say to that as a panting soldier came in. "He's come to, Sir. The Prince, that is. Royally pissed, if I may say so." The man chuckled amusedly about his own joke.

Unfortunately his superior was not amused at all. "Bring him here!"

Merlin had the distinct feeling that this should mean something to him but no idea what or why, so he just laid still and tried to figure it out.

A moment later he heard some shuffling and pushing, an angry snort or two and then another very familiar voice. "Take your hands off me, you dirty pig!" This had to be Arthur; that much was obvious.

The sound of a slap, a muffled gasp and Merlin thought it might be time to open his eyes. With some effort he did so and stared at a piece of dirty canvas above him for a long minute before it occurred to him that he could turn his head a bit.

Meanwhile the situation in the middle of the makeshift shelter had definitely worsened. A writhing Prince in the hold of two men, a definitely non-friendly knife at his throat. "It's easy enough" the foreign soldier explained to his captive once again. "Either Your Highness most graciously deign to tell me where we will find this book my King wants or I'll have to use other means of persuasion. The kind you wouldn't like."

The warlock pondered the question why someone would be idiotic enough to ask somebody a question whilst somebody else had clamped a hand over the other man's mouth, but then he was distracted. Instead of nodding or struggling, the prisoner tensed the muscles of his jaws and the man who held him yelped. "Damn the brat, he's bitten me."

"We're not making any headway My Prince" the commander sighed sadly. "Gareth, cut one of Merlin's fingers off, just for a starter."

"Don't you dare touch him or you'll die!"

"I'm sorry, Prince Arthur, but you're not in a position to threaten anyone. Tell me what I want to know or Merlin will suffer the consequences. Naturally we could start with his face instead his hands, if you prefer that. A lip, maybe? His nose? Or would you rather I took an ear?"

Arthur didn't look too happy about the situation, the warlock decided. Besides, the unfortunate Prince couldn't be comfortable, not with his hands bound behind his back, a formidable bruise on his forehead and another one just forming on his cheek.

The wizard pondered. Maybe that required some kind of response? There was some math to do in a situation like this, he knew it. Arthur + danger = spring into action at once? Was that it? If only he knew who that Merlin-fellow was. He seemed to be important, too. Where was he?

"Your Highness? Time is running out."

What now? Uncomprehendingly the warlock stared at this ugly little man who grabbed him by the hair and wielded a –goodness, was that a _kitchen_ knife?

"Leave him alone, Trickler!" That sounded not as angry as before. More desperate. And scared. Now, this was _surely_ wrong. Wherever this Merlin guy was wasting his time right now, one thing was certain, Arthur couldn't be scared, it just wasn't right.

Magic pooled inside the wizard, ready to lash out, his eyes flashed golden and he grinned menacingly as – absolutely nothing happened.

He tried again – nothing.

"He's awake" Trickler said. "He's looking at me. I think his magic is struggling against the restraints. Well, Merlin, what an unpleasant surprise, is it not? Not so powerful now, eh?"

The warlock realized three things at once. _He_ was Merlin, his magic wasn't worth a shit right now and Arthur was in trouble of the potentially lethal kind.

Strength – what he would call 'strength' anyway – shot back into his muscles and joints, he reared up to wrestle the knife from the unsuspecting hand with the definite goal to cut the damned toad to pieces – …..

Or so he thought.

The ropes that very effectively bound him to the cot he was spread on thought otherwise and they won the day easily. The only effect he achieved was that his head rose from the pillow while Trickler's knife stayed exactly where it was, which meant that the wizard got himself his cheek cut open before he realized it.

He screamed in shocked surprise, only to find that he was also gagged. Now _he_ was scared, and no mistake!

"Let him be and I show you where the book is. I give you my word."

"That's better" the soldier said. "For both of you. We can go at once, if it pleases Your Royal Highness."

With a kind gesture, the commander made way for his prisoner but Arthur dug his heels in. "Whatever healing spell Trickler used, Merlin almost died from your arrow. Let Merco tend to him again while we're on our way."

"As Your Grace wishes."

The last thing Merlin saw of his friend was Arthur's worried gaze before he was dragged out. It was obvious that Pendragon tried to lay some reassurance into it, but all Merlin saw was fear and not so much for the Prince himself.

The warlock struggled hopelessly against the ropes and the still unknown restraint that held his magic captive when Merco, a minute after he had come to his patient, decided that this did him no good. The healer unfastened the gag only to force some liquid down the young man's throat and Merlin's sight blackened, his muscles relaxed and all he could think before darkness took him once again was "_Arthur is right. I am an idiot sometimes!_"

When Merlin had opened his eyes again it had been to see the walls of the prison he was now in, freezing, hungry, thirsty and most of all frightened. He had no idea what had happened, what had become of his friend or what was to become of him.

The only thing that had become clearer with every minute of his reminiscence was that Llanfair's evil spirit could not be very far away. He could smell it, almost taste it.

If it had been Alined and Trickler who had brought him here, where were they? And why was a dead man the only one he could think about?

And no sign of Arthur, of anyone.

Forgetting all self-esteem and appearances, Merlin curled up even tighter and whimpered in the dark.


	15. Gaius' quest

**15. Gaius' quest**

It was just as well that Merlin did not know what fate had befallen his other friends back in Arenboarth's village, as the additional worry wouldn't have done him any good.

After they had given up their search for Prince and warlock, Uther sat at a still unconscious Gaius' side, head buried in his hands, a pale spectre of the man who had kept all of Camelot on its toes for more than twenty years. Other than the Prince had assumed, his father did not think about rebellion or fighting back or arming Camelot's battlements. On the contrary.

Twice Gwen tried to rouse him, to make him at least drink or eat something but he didn't want to. If he had yelled at her, threatened her, accused her of every vile thing possible, she would have swallowed it without comment, knowing that he was on the mend.

Instead he scared her witless with his meekness and tame humility. For the first time ever she heard Uther Pendragon accuse himself of being too rude, brainless, brutal, a total failure who had succeeded only in destroying everybody's life, Igraine's, Arthur's, even Gaius', as well as his own.

The woman who had thought the King of Camelot physically unable to shed tears finally saw him weeping like a sick child in remorse, utterly convinced that he had succeeded in pushing his son away, that he'd never see him again, that Gaius would die, Camelot would fall and that his world would come to an untimely end.

In other words, in his usual rash and ruthless way, Uther tried to make amends for a lifetime of recklessness and inconsideration within a few hours of depression, deeply rattled by the fact that he, always the quick decider, the man who knew what others should do in each and every possible situation, was clueless as to what _he_ should do.

Arthur's letter to Merlin, the epistle the young warlock had shoved under the door of Uther's quarter, had told the father enough to at least abstain from the idea of searching for his son himself, then and there, alone if needs be. The more so as the wizard to whom the Prince had entrusted his family's security, was nowhere to be found either.

"Oh, what have I done, what have I done" the inconsolable King repeated over and over again, until Gwen cradled him in her arms and dandled him softly, feeling unspeakably idiotic and ridiculous.

Recent events had buried her more tender feelings for little Thomas' grandfather as well as her heroic wishes to be the spirit of comfort for the Pendragon family in a dark pit of frustration and therefore she felt less lenient towards Uther than she'd otherwise been.

For the Gods' sake, the man had murdered her father and if had not been for her husband being his son and little Thomas being his grandchild, she'd gladly heard about his imminent death. Now Uther was family and look what that had brought her to.

Besides, for all her better judgement and her knowing that Arthur had gone on dangerous quests before, only to return unscathed, Uther's desperate grief terrified her. It wasn't only that she felt betrayed and bitterly humiliated by Arthur leaving her without a word of explanation. Surely King Uther knew best what and what not his son could do. If the father was _that_ devastated by fear and worry, surely there was reason to be concerned? What if Arthur would not come back? What if little Thomas was already an orphan? What if….?

When Marwon knocked thrice without getting an answer and, finally worried, opened the door forcefully, he startled her enough to jump to her feet with a horrified scream. She screamed even louder when Uther was up in the blink of an eye and roaring like an angered lion, sword ready over his head, looming above her and the old healer in a defensive stance like an avenging angel freshly fallen from the sky.

No matter how many days of life in this world the Gods would grant her they wouldn't be enough to ever understand the mystery that was her father in law!

Gone was the weakness, the humility; the man who towered over the scared young Druid was a murderous beast, resolved to defend his own.

"Please, My Lord, it's me, it's Marwon."

Uther needed a moment before the meaning of these words reached the responsible parts of his brain. "Oh!" Nervously the King cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Visibly embarrassed Uther sheathed his weapon, furtively wiped his eyes and tried to regain at least some of his normal composure. "What is it you bring?" he said, regally enough for Gwen to wish she'd slapped his face why she still had had the chance.

"It's my father, Sire" the young Druid said, for once not thinking about his illegitimacy. "He's dead. My Lord Arenboarth is dead."

The words shot through Uther's brain searching for a place to settle and found none. "Dead? What do you mean, dead?" Still half dazed by his own grief, Uther had successfully got his wires crossed.

Or, as his daughter in law phrased it in her own heart, the King was once more a few bricks short of a load.

Gwen hadn't known that Marwon was Arenboarth's son, but she didn't think much of it, except how she had felt when _her _father had died. "He _means_ his father has passed away" she said irritably before she turned to the crestfallen Druid. "I am so very sorry, Marwon. He was a fine man, a truly great man. We will miss him so very much."

"But why did he die? I mean, now of all times." Uther sounded as if Arenboarth had died of sheer spite, for no other reason but to do the King of Camelot a tort.

Marwon shrugged helplessly. "He bled to death. We did all we could, but he just…. he just…" His self-control failed him and he wept openly.

Uther tut-tutted. A grown up man and cried like that. Really, it was too embarrassing. "Well, that's most unfortunate." Belatedly he remembered his manners. "My condolences, of course."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Who's going to be the leader of your tribe now? You?" The King eyed the younger man critically. Would this little twerp, this overemotional walking beanpole ever be a worthy substitute for the great Arenboarth? He doubted it very much. Blast it, the Druids needed a leader who, besides having powerful magic, was able to cut a figure in the eyes of the world.

Putting the disgraceful past he had with these people conveniently out of his always calculating mind, Uther pondered that - what was of course more important - the _Pendragons_ might need the Druids in future. Oh, where the hell was this fool Merlin when one needed him? Wasn't he somehow special for these people? Didn't they even have a nickname for him? Uther wished he had listened to Gaius at least sometimes.

"Our elders will choose, with the help of the Great Mother" Marwon meanwhile said and he straightened his back. "I wanted Your Majesty to know that my father …... He…. even after all what has happened in the past, he held the Pendragons in high regard, your son especially, more than he ever respected a swordsman. I just thought you might want to know that."

He looked up and found Uther staring at him with hot cheeks. His Majesty wasn't a sensitive man, but he had liked the last of the Lord Druids a great deal and only now he remembered it.

"My Lord Arenboarth's body will be burned shortly before sunrise" Marwon continued. "I thought you might wish to attend the funeral. As you're going to leave us soon for Camelot I shouldn't wonder." The Druid managed a polite little smile. "I'm sure Prince Arthur will find his way home sooner or later. I think, if I were in his shoes, I would want to go home eventually, no matter what my quarrel was about."

"Yes" was all a hoarse Uther came up with. "Sure. When Gaius is able to travel, we will depart immediately."

Guinivere went with Marwon and left her father in law with his healer friend. She thought that Agneta and especially Mirella would be in dire need of solace right now, much more than a King who only saw his own needs most of the time.

So Uther was alone with him when the ailing physician opened his eyes half an hour later.

"Gaius" the King said, smiling radiantly. "Oh thank Gods you're back. I thought…. I was so afraid you'd….." Lost for words he took the older man's hand and pressed it cautiously. "How do you feel?"

"Well enough, thank you" was the weak reply but then Gaius frowned. Pictures came to his mind, of Arenboarth in the library. "_And that's exactly why I can't allow you to leave_" the Lord Druid had said before he had knocked Gaius out.

The physician's throat tightened, his heart cramped and he had trouble breathing. "Uther, where's Arthur? And Merlin? Please, bring them here, I must talk to them. Please, hurry."

"They're not here, actually my son has gone on some quest, some foolish wild goose chase with Antek and this Merco fellow of all people, they'll be back soon and then…"

"Quest? What quest? Uther, you have no idea….where's Merlin?"

"You know the little idiot, of course he's run after his adored master. Now you must rest, you mustn't be that agitated…"

"Uther, for the Gods' sake, listen to me…."

In that very second the village's alarm bells rang out and an unfamiliar young Druid burst into the room. "We're under attack. The village is surrounded by soldiers. They're laying waste to our sacred gardens…."

It was obvious that the young man was in a state of total panic and the sight of him was enough to let all of Uther's instincts spring into action. Shouting at the devastated young man to take care of Gaius, he was out in an instant, roaring orders right and left as soon as he bumped into Leon and his men and a few minutes later all the knights and the King of Camelot were in full fight with a group of enemies that had made it inside the village.

The attackers left no room for doubt that they meant business. Already in the first onslaught they had left the ground littered with dead or maimed Druids of all ages, even children hadn't found any mercy. The other village inhabitants ran all over the place, from this side to another and back again, terror-stricken, fearful for their loved ones, but not fighting back.

Uther's heart sank. With Arenboarth dead nobody was there to tell the scared people what their sacred rules of pacifism would allow in such a situation and what not. Perhaps with someone like their secretly adored Emrys present – the name shot into Uther's brain suddenly - showing them what magic could do in a battle, they would have thought twice about being slain without even an attempt at defending themselves and their homes.

As it was, the Druids were just life stock ready to be slaughtered.

"Mirella" Leon screamed at the top of his voice. "Mirella, run. Don't do that!"

Only now Uther spotted Leon's wife and her brother, trying desperately to assemble a group of younger Druids in front of a house near the village centre. Obviously Marwon was not willing to go down without a fight as he held a sword and Mirella did likewise. Three or four of the others stayed at their side and looked as if they wanted to join the fight, but all the others refused, obviously resolved not to fight back.

The King cursed through gritted teeth. "Blast the idiots. Godforsaken, blind cowards."

His own blade brought another enemy to his knees and finished the man off without Uther really thinking about it and for a brief spell, no other attackers followed.

Leon had pressed forward to get to his pregnant wife the second he had seen her in the fight. Out of habit the other Camelot knights and soldiers had immediately turned and followed him; with Arthur absent, Leon was their leader in a fight, King or no King somewhere in the hubbub.

Cursing again, Uther made ready to also follow his wayward head knight, when the sight of Guinivere joining the group of Marwon and Mirella with a sword in her hand let his blood run cold.

The group of enemy soldiers that suddenly blocked their way felt the whole brunt of Uther's and Leon's wrath and fear and they paid for it with their lives; but what good did that do when the attackers never seemed to get short of reinforcements?

With increasing despair the King watched an even stronger detail of attackers run for the pitifully few and untrained defenders of the small cottage. A handful of them were fenced off by the determined use of magic Arenboarth's children performed, but soon enough, whilst Leon, his men and his King were still held up by their own opponents, steel clashed against steel and the few young people, the two women and Arenboarth's son fought for their very lives.

Uther and Leon only reached the cottage entrance after the fight had been pressed back into the house where the enemies did their best to slaughter the defenders one by one. With Marwon already bleeding from a deep gash in his left arm, two of the other Druids down and the two women on the brink of total exhaustion, their chances were slim.

However, the luck was turned as Uther and his warriors fell on the attackers' back. Squeezed into the narrow corridor and staircase, between the Druids, who found new strength on the King's arrival, and the determined knights and soldiers they could not move and it was only a question of time before they'd be killed.

In spite of the unexpected exercise Uther breathed easier when he realized they finally had a chance. While he pressed his present opponent upwards on the stairs, waiting for the right moment to thrust into the man's barely protected belly, he noticed a female figure sweeping by the first floor door. In a jiffy he heard her scream with horror, closely followed by Guinivere and Mirella when they looked up.

An enemy soldier held two babies high in the air, and then the fight was over.

Later on it was no denying that the two Cymbrian soldiers who had found Agneta, her baby son and little Thomas hidden in the bedroom had won the day single-handedly.

Next morning's sun found the still terrified Druid survivors huddling around the village well, closely watched by a strong Cymbrian guard while the Camelotians as well as Marwon and his sister had earned themselves a special treatment.

Uther had known better than to protest and make a fuss when they tied him up but his pale face and set jaws showed how he felt about this dreadful humiliation. It took all his self-control to keep quiet for the sake of his little grandson and his mother. Yet in his head his thoughts were running amok. What did these people want? And the most troublesome thought of all – had his son ran into these men and if so, why didn't they say it, make use of it? What if…. – he hardly dared to finish the thought – what if Arthur was already dead?

The question was burning on his tongue but if by any chance his boy had made it out of this trap unharmed it wouldn't be his father who put these bastard's on his scent.

Soon it became obvious that there was no need for that.

"Some people are still unaccounted for" the Cymbrian commander said sternly. "Your Majesty wouldn't by any luck know where we could find Count Antek? Or even more interesting, your son and heir Prince Arthur?"

Uther winced as he recognized Arthur's letter in the man's hand. Why the hell hadn't he destroyed it in time? "My son has gone on a trip of his own, as you can surely see from the letter you've stolen. If you're literate that is. One never knows with a Cymbrian."

The foreign warrior cocked a brow but otherwise ignored the jibe. "I'm sure we'll find His Royal Highness soon enough" he replied calmly. "In the meantime, my King offers you and your….friends his hospitality and it would be impolite to keep His Majesty waiting. After you, Your Grace."

His feet tied to the stirrups of a horse, Uther had the dispensable pleasure to see his knights, the Druid siblings as well as his daughter in law with his grandson being paraded out of the village; a silent yet powerful reminder of what kind of disaster any resistance would bring about.

"What about the others?" the King asked his captor. "They're just a bunch of peasant cowards with some spells good only for fieldwork. Surely King Cendred has no interest in seeing them perish?"

The Cymbrian pointed at Marwon's and Mirella's departing backs. "Let's just hope these two will be enough to let the others see reason and stay out of our hair. Now, My Lord. If you please….."

Uther swallowed painfully. And then, for the first time in many, many years, the King of Camelot just did as he was told.

Somewhere in the crowd gathered round the well, Gaius scrambled to his trembling feet and watched them being herded away through a mist of warm and salty water. If he walked a step or two, he almost fell down. Using his rusty magic for anything fruitful was out of the question. Hardly ever he had felt so very weak and useless.

Something tucked at his sleeve while the last Cymbrians, with a torrent of empty threats and abuse, made ready to follow their comrades.

"You're crying" the little Druid boy stated in a most matter-of-fact manner.

"No I'm not" Gaius replied curtly. "Something has come into my eye."

"_Yeah, sure_" the child's face said unmistakably. "My mother is crying, too. My elder sister is injured."

"What do I care?" was the angry reply. Uther's life-long friend, Merlin's guardian and Arthur's sometime surrogate-parent was far from being sympathetic. Not while his own troubles were almost killing him.

"Aren't you a healer?" the child insisted.

"I can help nobody, not even myself right now. Go away!"

The boy stared at him with a frown but said nothing for quite a while. Gaius would have liked to push him away but couldn't make up his mind to do so. He was so incredibly tired.

Suddenly the child heaved a giant sigh. "She's hurting very badly, you know."

"Who?"

"My sister. The one I told you about?"

Gaius looked at the skinny little creature. Two big brown eyes, two big knees and not much more except the special blend of confidence and trust only a child can muster; a child that has been brought up with love and affection instead of threats and too much discipline.

For all him being almost a young man when they had first met, Merlin had looked at him that way, before life had taught the young warlock otherwise. Arthur, by the way, never had. He'd always looked as if he had been born with the knowledge that the world was a dangerous and hostile place; that one had to fight for and earn the right for every breath and step in it.

The healer's heart hurt. He had once told Arenboarth how very deeply intertwined his own existence was with Camelot and the Pendragons, but only now he fully felt the truth of that. Without the two he felt he _had_ no life whatsoever.

So there was nothing for it then. He would have to overcome the weakness of his old bones and weary flesh, he thought. Maybe it was a bit over-dramatic, but, by the state he was in, fully justified. With Uther obviously incapacitated for the duration, his old friend would have to see what he could find out about the two young men that were dear to his heart.

Two or three days at most and then he would be on his way. In the meantime there was no need to sit idle, though. "Where is your sister?" he asked grumpily.

Decisively the boy pointed at a place on the well's left side; at the same time he grabbed the old man's arm and dragged. "C'me on. Hurry!"

"_For the love of Camelot_" Gaius thought with a flicker of irony while he followed the child. "_And I pray to all Gods that somebody does the same for my bunch_."


	16. Peculiar proposals

**A/N: Just to prove that I'm serious about working on this story more regularly from now on: It's a short chapter (at least for one of my stories) but it's a chapter. I hope you like it, as it was much fun writing it. I felt like a bit of humour after the darker plotline of "A future haunted by the past". I hope you like it anyway. Do not worry, there will be more angst and action coming in The Llanfair heritage, but for now - let's have a break from depression and fear, together with Uther King of Camelot!  
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**Please, do not forget to use the Review-button!  
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**16. Peculiar proposals**

"Are you completely out of your mind?" Uther looked at Cendred with widened eyes. "_Marriage_? You attack a village of innocent Druid peasants; you drag me here like a common criminal and all that because you want me to _marry_ your sister?"

Cendred sighed in deepest possible frustration. How hilarious he had been when the news had reached him that Uther was with the Druids. 'Piece of cake' he had thought, but he hadn't reckoned with his involuntary guest's obstinacy. "Uther. Please. As I said: I'd rather your son married my sister. Arthur is much more suitable than an old man like you, but, face it, even if you knew your brat's whereabouts, you'd stand no chance to make him leave his whore!"

Uther turned red from wrath and mortification, as this was, unfortunately, very true. "If I'm such an unsuitable old crock, why keep me here?" he snapped.

"Frankly, if one of my sons behaved like your brat does, I'd have him in the stocks for a fortnight and give him a good, hard thrashing. Nothing like that to bring a boy to his senses." Cendred frowned when Uther rolled his eyes. "I brought my Gyrrin up that way and he's a fine boy. If he hadn't been born a bastard…."

"I'd not be here in the first place" Uther finished the other's sentence for him.

"You would do anything to secure the future of _your_ boy" Cendred defended his cause heatedly.

"But not by marrying my sister off to a man whom I had to force into her bed!"

"I have no other choice if I want to see my boy succeed me on my throne" Cendred roared. "It's not my fault that my Gyrrin was born out of wedlock!"

Uther stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Then whose fault was it?"

"My wife's of course. Stupid good for nothing bitch. Whined every time I came near her bed."

Pendragon looked his counterpart over, a virtual mountain of a man, abounding in strength and temper, and then he remembered the King of Cymbria's late wife. A little mouse of a woman, 8 years her husband's senior and ailing since childhood. Whatever evil spirit had possessed Cendred's father when he had arranged that marriage for his son and heir, it had had no pity for the wretched female.

Cendred hit the nearest tankard with vicious force and it went flying until it rattled on the floor with a nerve-breaking sound. "You were lucky, your Igraine was a good woman, with pedigree, and everyone knows she adored you. She gave you a fine boy, even though he's obviously mad. Happens in these old families, doesn't it. Can't be helped."

"The Gods rest her soul" Uther said, voluntarily overhearing the snipe at Arthur's mental health. "Leave her out of this!"

Cendred rose from the table he had been sitting on – he rarely sat in a chair, they were too petite for him and his long legs – grabbed a bottle of strong liquor, filled two chalices, put the first one before himself and the other one before Uther with such a fierce bang that half the liquid was spilled, damaging the tender, fragile inlaid work of the hapless table beyond repair.

"C'me on, Uther. From one King to another. We both benefit from it. You have the great name, to back my Gyrrin up, I have a considerable army to back up _you_ and your spoiled brat. Together we're invincible and after us, our boys can continue the good work. What say you?"

"If an alliance is what you want, why not sign a treaty and be done with it? What good does this idiotic marriage do?"

"I know you and your treaties, Uther Pendragon. You sly dog, you could swindle yourself out of a treaty you made with the devil himself. But not if my sister is breathing down your neck on every turn."

"And you would entrust this precious jewel to me, even if I hated her enough to strangle her with my bare hands at the first chance?" Slowly but surely Pendragon found some amusement in the situation. Haggling and bargaining was more than a part of a King's job description, to him it was a passion. He just _loved _doing it. As long as he got the better part of the bargain, of course.

Alas, this time the cards were stacked against him.

"I've my men roaming the region; every village, every place; sooner or later they will find your precious whelp" Cendred said with a smirk. "To give you and my sister some time to settle in, nice and quietly, your Arthur will be my guest. Until _I_ see fit to send him home. Understood?"

"If you as much as lay a finger on my son …." Amusement gone Uther flared up in an instant. He was – secretly of course - worried sick about his son, in spite of all his anger and hurt about Arthur's desertion. But wherever the stubborn boy was, he was _not_ in Cendred's claws and, right now, that counted for something. So Pendragon forgot all about the guards outside, the guards inside, the fact that he was unarmed and the almost 15 years Cendred was younger.

Due to the latter, the Cymbrian didn't need the help of his men to get a grip on his prisoner. "Would Your Majesty of Camelot be so kind as to most graciously have a look out of this window?" he hissed.

With clenched jaws Uther did as he was told. In the iron hold of two very determined arms, he had no other choice. As he had expected, the sight was a sorry one. Leon, Mirella, her brother and what assembly of human pawns wouldn't be complete without a certain dark-skinned young Lady with a baby on her arms.

"_If I had become a Christian monk_" Uther thought idiotically "_as my __old Aunt Tilda wanted me to be, I'd had a better life. Blackmail, worries, fear and pain – who was the idiot that said a son and a family are a man's comfort in his old age?_"

Cendred tut-tutted sympathetically. "Fine child, your little grandson. Would be such a shame if he got lost. And what your precious Arthur would have to say about you sacrificing his child, and the little Lady – I wouldn't want to hear it. Would you?"

"What guarantees would I have that your sister does not strive for early widowhood as soon as we're married?" Uther pressed through gritted teeth.

"The guarantee that that's not in my best interest. Camelot might take offence at your premature demise. Your son might even shed a tear or two and after he's been crowned, remember me not too friendly. That's not what I want."

Cendred felt the other royal relax a bit and grinned. At last he was making headway. "Besides" he added silkily "As far as I know, you and your son are in some trouble. I could keep him out of mischief; you could easily explain to your Courtiers that he's another King's guest. Much easier than to explain he's with Llanfair. We both win. What's wrong about that?"

"_If I can't win now, I need time to win later. It's always the same in such situations_" Uther thought. "All right" he said. "You win! If your sister will have me, you can go on planning the wedding, as long as you leave my men and my family in peace."

Cendred virtually beamed with glee. "As soon as we've found your boy, we can have the wedding. It's all arranged."

"_Heaven forbid that my son is also dragged into this trap_" Uther thought once more. One Pendragon in the frying pan was more than enough for his taste. Well, two Pendragons actually, when the grandfather came to think of little Thomas. "What has Arthur to do with the wedding?"

The King of Cymbria shook his head with mock contrition. "Really, you ought to pay more attention to what I'm saying, dear brother in law. I've told you, no Arthur staying with me, no sister going with you. And without my sister, you're going nowhere!"

Before Uther could think of a fitting reply the door opened and a woman came in.

"Ah, Morgyan" Cendred smiled. "Please, dearest sister, meet your future husband. He's just been asking for your hand in marriage."

"Has he now" the Princess replied ironically. "Dearest Uther, if only I had known you love me such. Think about all those years we've wasted in futile longing."

Uther couldn't answer; he was busy gawking at her. Her long gold-blond hair, turquoise eyes, her perfect skin and her body. Gods, her body, wrapped tightly in layers of sea-green silk. Great Mother, you've created perfection! Who gave a damn about a bad reputation after one look at _that_ figure? Suddenly the term 'worth dying for' made a whole lot of sense.

"She's but 25, speaks four languages, she plays the… the… whatever the darn thing is called. And she can handle her sword better than some of my knights. She hunts and shoots like a man. And I have no doubt that, once bedded, she could whelp like my best bitches!"

Cendred was about to rant on, he was incredibly fond and proud of his sister, almost as fond and proud as he was of himself and his sons, but Morgyan cut him short with an indulgent, even affectionate smile. "I think the King has caught your meaning, Ceddy."

Her calm, haughty gaze then washed over an enraptured Uther, he had yet to decide if it was a cool breeze or a cold shower, and she cocked a brow. "Do you think it speaks, Ceddy?"

"A few minutes ago he was perfectly able. We talked about postponing the wedding until his unfortunate son was found, and he agreed, didn't you, Uther."

"What?... Oh, yes. Yes that we did. I remember."

"How lovely" Morgyan smiled, yet her voice became sharp. "And Uther's sudden willingness has nothing to do with these people who are standing in the Court Yard until they drop from exhaustion?"

King Cendred, who knew his sister, this tone of voice and the long, arduous discussions he had had with her about the whole marriage scheme, cleared his throat nervously. "I was just about to give order to bring them in…."

"Into your dungeons, no doubt" Morgyan said coldly. "One woman pregnant and one with a small child on her arms! It's a disgrace for Cymbria and I'll have none of it, do you hear me, brother?"

"Of course, my dear. I'll see to it, at once. Maybe you'd like to have some words with your fiancé?" Now that he had got what he had wanted, Cendred wasn't fool enough to take any risks. Morgyan was fickle, she was headstrong – astonishing combination in his opinion, but then she was a woman – and she had yet to say 'yes' at the wedding ceremony.

"Don't trouble yourself, Ceddy, I've already given orders to take care of our guests. And as for further negotiations with Camelot, I gladly leave them to you."

As soon as she had left, Uther shook his head in awe. If it was awe he felt. "Not quite the cold hearted bitch everyone takes her for, is she" he said without thinking. He braced for the inevitable reaction to that insult only afterwards.

However, Cendred just shrugged. His sister's reputation was well known to him. "She has a mind of her own and she speaks it. Nothing wrong with that for a Princess of Cymbria. My men and servants worship her. If she says your son's common law wife and the Druids will be comfortable, they will be."

Uther swallowed when he heard his grandchild's mother being called by another word for concubine, but there were more important things to ponder right now. Especially how to fool his opponent into believing that the King of Camelot was completely at his mercy while His Pendragon Majesty indeed was making other plans.

Luckily, Cendred gave him the perfect opportunity to create a very diverting tempest in a teacup only a second later. "About my sister's dowry rights…." the Cymbrian King said, and Uther threw himself with much gusto into a most indignant tirade of rejection.

When he finally gave in, after having fought Cendred every step of the way, the Cymbrian thought he had won a momentous battle while actually he had achieved exactly nothing, as it had all been talk.

There was only one thing disturbing Uther, besides his continuous worry about his son. Well, yes, and about his grandson, damn the child that it was so very endearing.

The more the King of Camelot tried the less he could banish another annoying thought from his mind. It even stalked him when he was in his bed, in guest quarters the comfort of which was only marred by the fact that the only possible exit was locked and guarded.

The thought of what a great Queen the Princess Morgyan would make.

Not for a son who had to be persuaded to see her merits first.

No.

This wasn't about making Morgyan the Crown Princess of Camelot.

This was about making room for another inhabitant in King Uther's _own_ chambers and on a Queen's throne at his side that had been vacant for too long.

By the way and come to think of it: If Arthur could present his father with a grandchild without so much as asking the King's leave, why should not the father be entitled to present the obstinate Prince yet with a little brother?

Not even the King of Camelot could do without a break from his worries from time to time. So, in spite of a potentially very dire situation, Uther rested his head on his arms; found a more comfortable position in the bed and began dreaming.


	17. Demons' call

**1****7. Demon's call**

"You're sure it's the real thing?" Alined's hand tentatively stroked the valuable leather cover and the gold fittings of the book he held.

"The Prince led us straight to it. It was in the old Count's grave." Cajolingly, grovelling as always, Trickler danced around his master, rubbing his hands in joyful anticipation of a reward.

Alined's fist shot out and hit the slimy magician and Court Jester in the face.

"That's not what I wanted to know" the King roared. "Is it or is it not the Book of Demons. You told me you'd know the moment you set eyes on it!"

"It is the original" Trickler, brutally woken from his pleasing dreams, whined and sniffed while his nose bled profoundly. "I felt it when I touched it. It's real. They…the demons whispered to me."

"Did you open it?" Alined snapped, not in the least perturbed by the man's whimpering.

"No, Sire. But the demons…. They almost overwhelmed me. It was like that day I invented the dampening field that surrounds this house, suffocating any magic but mine inside these walls. When I recited the spell from Llanfair's handwritten notes...you know, the ones we first retrieved from Antek of Llanfair..." Trickler shuddered, but where anybody else would have taken it as a distinct warning that this corrupt, utterly unconscionable man should shudder at anything, Alined did not.

"What did they say, huh? A dinner invitation with you as the main course? I'd like to attend that myself." The King guffawed, beastly amused by his joke at the servant's expense.

Trickler didn't answer that; instead he kept his head down. The sycophantic jester drew in his horns like a frightened dog and yet there was a defiant streak in his features. "I know from then that I can't handle this kind of magic" he said. "And I wouldn't advise you to try it on your own."

In the next second Trickler yelped again when his ear was brutally twisted and torn. Alined's face was red with anger. "Do not remind me of your uselessness or I might ask myself for what I'm feeding you."

"You'll need the boy's help, master" Trickler wailed. "Merlin. But he's not very cooperative. Two days without food or water and he still yelled at me to get lost when I checked up on him."

"And who would blame him, eh?" The King let go of the hapless jester only to viciously kick his leg. "So it's high time we instil some cooperativeness in the young warlock. Bring me Pendragon!" and Trickler made good use of the opportunity to leave his master's sight.

Regrettably – if anyone in the world would've gone as low as to pity _Trickler _– his troubles were far from over.

For two whole days Alined had exercised patience. His three prisoners had been forced to do the same, which had done nothing to improve their confidence. Trickler's King was a coward, but, as Gaius had once granted him, an intelligent one.

The Jester had to deal with two thoroughly unnerved young men and while one of them was cautious and determined to assess the situation before he acted, the other one was hell-bent on making good on his former mistakes.

Merlin would have been proud of his favourite royal prat, as for once in his life it was Arthur who chose to be careful. However, Antek's much tried patience was as raddled as a worn out shirt.

The background story of Llanfair's misery was a complex one.

The quarrel in the forest had seen the last of Antek's stubborn defiance; the Count would've given much to regain Arthur's … whatever it had been they'd felt for each other before. Perhaps 'regard' was the correct word.

This friendship to the Pendragon Prince – indeed the one and only friendship in Antek's life – was thoroughly in shambles and only now, as it was too late, young Llanfair began to really appreciate it. So he was determined to make sure that Arthur came out of this unscathed. Naturally it had to be done in the Prince's full sight, so that he could appreciate Antek's valiant efforts on his behalf. After that, the Count of Llanfair would resume his lonesome fight for Blackrock and his people's future. Secretly Antek enjoyed this last bit of his fancy, it sounded so very selfless and heroic.

As young Llanfair had assumed that, once Merlin was in Alined's hands, he and Arthur could steer clear of the King and whatever business he had with the young warlock, persuading Alined's men to let them go should have been a piece of cake as well as the perfect opportunity to see the Prince safely on his way to Camelot while Antek kept his head on his shoulders.

Instead all three of them had ended up as Alined's prisoners and, honestly, after two days of captivity Antek saw all his hopes perish. Not only that they were obviously in some danger about which Arthur obviously knew a lot but obstinately refused to speak. Said Prince openly showed how much he despised his former friend; and this tormented Antek more than he'd ever thought possible.

Besides all that, Antek did not dare think about what Cendred thought about the mess. As far as Antek knew, both Pendragons were out of Cendred's reach, his liegeman disappeared, Cymbrian soldiers wounded or even dead - as sure as eggs were eggs, the rebuilding of Blackrock had vanished into the mists of a future that became more uncertain with every passing day.

The Count and his princely friend had a lot in common. Gifted warriors they both were. Used to giving orders and be obeyed, good leaders in battle, proud and stiff-necked, self-centred at times yet thoroughly dedicated to those who were their own – but there it ended.

Other than Uther's son, not even the Great Mother herself in all her divine glory could have turned young Antek into a carefully waging strategist; he searched for his advantage as much as the next man but usually he was much too impulsive to find it.

As a certain Court Jester was about to find out the hard way.

Trickler was all puffed up with his own importance and position of power when he entered, strutting directly towards the wary Prince. Arthur had risen the moment they heard somebody at the door, assuming correctly that their captor wanted to bring the cat and mouse game to the next level. "Come with me!" For emphasis, the Jester grabbed Arthur's arm.

The Prince's "Antek, don't" was utterly useless; the next instant saw Trickler flying into a huge mirror that shattered under the impact into a thousand pieces while the enraged Count pursued him frantically.

Unfortunately, Llanfair's valiant attempt at protecting his princely one-time friend was as ill planned as it was ill timed, because the five sturdy guards in Trickler's wake failed to see the humour in the situation. In no time Arthur found himself in their arms with his own wrists twisted behind his back while Antek was beaten into submission until he curled up on the floor trying to protect his head.

Pendragon gritted his teeth, fighting against the urge to teach the brutes a lesson they'd not forget easily. Llanfair's antics were touching, but they weren't very clever and so the Prince, against his nature, restrained himself. He had a pretty good idea what Alined wanted him for and getting beaten up wouldn't exactly be uplifting for a certain young warlock's spirits.

Ten minutes later, with Antek being dragged to the dungeons by an aggravated Court Jester's command, Alined was, as always, fascinated by what he saw. He had not lied when he had once told Trickler how very attractive he found Uther's son. So far he had forgone the possibility to have Arthur restrained or rough-handled; he still kept up the appearances of one royal talking to another. And yet, seeing the young man like that, defenceless and surrounded by guards, was pure temptation.

"I apologize for the impropriety of our encounter" Alined opened the bartering session "but surely you know what this is about. I'd like to borrow your warlock's services for a short while. Unfortunate he refuses me, most insolently."

Arthur looked at the appalling book in the other's hand and swallowed painfully. "You've no idea what you're holding there. This thing has destroyed many men, Anwar of Llanfair among them. Believe me, you would not wish to share their fate!"

Alined sighed. So it wouldn't be easy. He had anticipated that much and yet it was annoying.

Frankly, it was enough to jump out of his skin. At last he had the object of his desire at his mercy but, as the value of a bargaining chip could not be diminished, he had to control himself. The obstinate wizard's cooperation was too important.

He knew that the Rashnijaan, amongst many other interesting things, contained more than one ritual that would shower a man with gold and riches beyond compare. No more grubbing and scraping for money, no more biding his time and making up clever schemes; with this kind of riches the power in Albion would be his without so much as rising his backside from his throne. Once he had the warlock under his heel he'd have no need to care about Uther's wrath or Camelot's army, he could do as he pleased, fearing no one.

But, alas, not yet.

Most likely he'd be forced to put the screws on this Merlin fellow without damaging him physically. It had to be a step by step process, not to be spoiled by torturing the only possible hostage too hastily.

A part of Alined – the part even Trickler detested – relished in the idea that there were probably things the young Prince would fear much more than death or physical pain. Doubtlessly his close friend the warlock would know that. Which meant, for example, that the _threat_ to force the Prince into the royal bed might be a very last resort; the actual act, however, would ruin everything.

But, as it was far too early for the really big battle axes anyhow, pussyfooting around his captive was the order of the day. "If your warlock-friend is remotely as powerful as people say, he should have no problem using the Rashnijaan" Alined said silkily to Arthur. "What is it to him; a few experiments, a few spells until I've got what I need. It's not so very much to ask."

"Merlin must not even come near the damned thing" Pendragon replied despairingly. Blast it, Alined's ears and mind were virtually nailed-up. Knowing that state of mind in a King by heart, Arthur instinctively fell into the habits he had taken on whilst dealing with his father. "Please Sire, I beg you. A born magician, however powerful, must not come into contact with the artificial magic the book provides. You too would live to regret it."

"_How much I like hearing you beg_" Alined thought. "_How I wish I could __**make**__ you beg._" With an effort, he pulled himself together and kept up his attitude of feigned friendliness.

"Come, come my boy, it can't be too much to ask of Camelot's Court Magician. A few weeks in my service, a month or two at most." The King's face hardened. "Or should I say, in his _Prince's_ service and best interest?"

Inwardly, Alined braced for the inevitable outburst and the equally inevitable exchange of insults. It was all so very foreseeable, so utterly boring, if only he could skip this part of the business: -Wait until my father hears of this, Camelot will crush your Kingdom to dust- -_That won't help you when my men kill __you_- -How dare you- -_I can do as I please, you're my prisoner now_- bla, bla, bla, etc. etc. pp..

However, the King waited in vain. Arthur didn't even try. He was alone, unarmed, he had no idea where Merlin was held and neither Camelot nor his father knew where _he_ was.

Therefore the Prince was way beyond some idiotic chest thumping or empty threats. "Do with me what you like, Sire. If its money you want or anything else, you shall have it, I don't care, as long as you leave the damn thing alone!"

Without thinking, Arthur slapped the book in Alined's hand, only to recoil from it with a gasp, as if he had been burned.

He hadn't touched the Book of Demons when they had retrieved it. His hands had been tied behind his back and Trickler had been far too eager to obtain the precious bounty anyway. Now, with the fleeting contact a sensation had come. Something horribly familiar to the Pendragon Prince. Some_one_ familiar!

The Prince was trembling like aspen leaves, the shock ousted anything else. The presence of something, someone, that could not – _should_ not by all laws of nature – exist crawled into his veins, his muscles, into his very soul.

Alined could make neither head nor tail of the sudden change in his prisoner. But with the instinct of a born bully and experienced manipulator he knew that his counterpart was rattled and that this was his best chance to expedite matters.

"Take him to the dungeon" he ordered, and his guards were all too ready to oblige.

All the way down, Alined racked his brain for a way to threaten Arthur – and, as a result, the blasted warlock – convincingly without actually breaking any bones. Besides from being primitive and vulgar, a body didn't become more beautiful by mutilating it. But only on his arrival in the impromptu torture chamber Trickler had furnished in anticipation of his King's needs, Alined knew how to proceed.

"_Bastards_" Arthur thought as he spotted Llanfair's figure spread eagled on a rack, with Trickler already turning the wheel. "_Bloody bastards!_"

Against his better judgement he tried to break free from the men's grasp as Antek screamed, terrified by the ropes pulling his limbs upwards mercilessly. Llanfair was brave enough in a fight but he didn't believe in silent endurance. And – like any other knight and swordsman he feared the rack more than hell.

The gruesome machine not only caused terrible pain but also crippled the victim for life. A lost eye, a deaf ear, a wounded left arm – 'inconvenient enough' as one of Arthur's tutors had once called it. But arms and legs pulled out of joint, ligaments severed and bones broken – that wasn't an inconvenience; that was a man's end.

"Alined, please…." Arthur struggled although he knew he stood no chance against the superior number and force of his opponents. Not even against the huge iron and leather clad hand that clamped down on his mouth and silenced him.

The nightmare of this reminder of what Antek's father had once done to him made his struggle a frantic one, that ended only when he was securely tied to a wooden beam, the disgusting claw still pressed firmly on his lips.

Antek heard him, albeit only through a haze of terror and pain. What he really got was the sudden standstill of the wheel and a little slack in the ropes. His breath rasping and his heart racing in his throat, he had trouble pricking his ears enough to hear Alined's low voice whispering to him.

At first, Antek didn't understand a word. Slowly, very slowly he understood what was demanded of him, what he should do in order to get himself and Arthur off the hook. "_Yes. Yes. I'll do it. Just leave us both in peace._" he wanted to shout "_I'll do anything you want_."

Instead he only whispered it and now it was Alined who had trouble hearing what he said. But finally, he got it and a satisfied smile came into his features.

Attentively the King helped his prisoner to his feet and steadied him until Antek could stand and walk again, if staggeringly. A short move of the King's hand and one of the henchmen ripped Arthur's shirt off. Alined noticed with some relief that Antek winced violently. This was much easier than he had feared.

Deliberately avoiding to look at his prisoners too closely – heavens, they _both_ were handsome enough to haunt an old man's dreams – the King gave Llanfair a warm-hearted smile. "You have an hour. Not more."

"_I'm sorry, Arthur_" Antek thought with a last shy look at his helpless friend. "_I know you do not want it, but it is for the best_." At last he shuffled out, escorted by two of Alined's soldiers.

"Let go of him" the King said after the door had closed again and the brute finally took his hand off Arthur's mouth. The Prince's relief was short lived as the hand was quickly substituted by a solid gag.

"I'm sorry for that, my boy" Alined said indifferently. "But it won't be for long. I think the Count will be very convincing."

Arthur let his head sink against the beam and closed his eyes. This was _exactly_ what he had tried to avoid at all costs - he, the book and Merlin in one place and just one more greedy, godforsaken, hare-brained half-wit suffering from pathologic avarice coming around to mess it all up; the kind of madmen that were driven to him and to the warlock like moths were driven to the light.

No use cursing Merlin's stupidity of always and everywhere following him around like a dumb-headed puppy or Antek's selfish cowardice. Or, to be honest with himself for once, his own absurd idea to take on this quest in the first place, as he was completely, utterly, hopelessly out of his depth.

All Arthur could do was to calm down, try to look as undefeated and unmolested as he could, given his situation, and hope, hope, hope; Gods help him, hope that the darn idiot of a far-too-loyal servant-wizard-peasant-friend for once had his wits about him and refused to go near the Rashnijaan, no matter what Alined would threaten him with.

Meanwhile the King killed the waiting time by tormenting Trickler with some vicious verbal and physical abuse about some made-up offence. The henchmen looked on and sneered for an audience.

While Arthur's breath and pulse calmed down, his eyes began to play tricks on him. The Rashnijaan, which Alined had brought with him and laid down on a small bench near the rack, seemed to glow; the ugly demonic figures engraved in the gold of the fittings moved and danced in the torches' light.

Alined frowned and ceased to harass the Jester for a split second. Arthur's eyes, glued to the book, had widened and he jerked in his bonds just once, but heftily, before he fell utterly still.

Alined was confused. What _was_ the matter with the boy?

"_Almost all the players on the stage_" a voice once heard and never forgotten whispered in the Prince's mind. "_Only one thing missing_." The incorporeal voice snickered menacingly. "_Long time no see, eh, little dragon?_"


	18. Downhill

**1****8. Downhill **

Merlin scrambled back, as far away from the door as he could. If this was the ass-hole Trickler with another bucket of filthy, ice cold water …..

Surprised, he recognized the Count of Llanfair in the man who was thrown into the cell by a kick in the backside that made him topple over until he landed flat on his belly. A guard laughed – "_Some joke!_" Merlin thought – and the door was slammed shut again.

Antek groaned while he picked himself up, eyeing the wizard warily. It was obvious on first sight that the peasant had been through a lot more of their hosts' idea of tender care than he and Arthur had. So Merlin was most probably in a very bad mood. _And_, they weren't exactly friends.

The wizard's feelings weren't very friendly, that was true, but then he thought that, while he could have done without the unwanted company, he could still make the best of it. "Do you have something to eat or water?"

Anger stirred inside the noble at the snappy tone of the question. Antek's irritation went far beyond the fact that Merlin had destroyed his home; that he was a competitor for the only real affection the Count had ever met in his life or that magicians just weren't Llanfair's favourite cup of wine.

On top of all that, Merlin had a singular talent to rattle Antek. This was personal. The warlock's presence was like a toothache, like a nail grating on glass. Insignificant, yes, unimportant, yes, but nevertheless unendurable.

Somehow the insolent peasant seemed to look through people. Every remark, every grin, every gesture seemed to be pointed at Llanfair's hidden weaknesses and shortcomings.

In Antek's view, Merlin was able to strip a man of all his outer glory and leave him naked and exposed, for all eyes to see and judge. And Llanfair felt he was not up to the challenge.

Arthur, on the other hand, endured the merciless disclosure of his inner being good-humouredly; Antek had often heard Merlin calling his Prince a prat, a supercilious dollop-head or worse and Camelot's Crown Prince had just laughed or retorted by some banter of his own.

Even King Uther, for all his superior attitude, seemed to have a soft spot for the boy. It was visible although the wizard kept his tongue in check in the King's presence as best he could.

How the Pendragons could tolerate this kind of behaviour was beyond the Count of Llanfair. Antek was a much better man than his father had been, in fact a much better man than he allowed himself to be in this gruesomely cruel world where everyone seemed to be after his hide or that of the people dear to him.

Yet Llanfair had been brought up in the strictest sense of aristocratic superiority and pride. Merlin's frankness and honesty were the perfect antithesis to that upbringing and it drove the nobleman mad.

With a deliberately exaggerated sigh, the warlock gave another example of his non-endearing qualities. "Are you deaf? Do-you-have-some-thing-to-eat?" he repeated with insulting slowness and mock patience.

"No" Antek snapped. He wanted to blurt Alined's message out, but he restrained himself. He knew it was base, and yet he was looking forward to seeing the warlock's face in the moment he told him. Arthur wouldn't know, Llanfair calmed his qualms of conscience, so, if he treated himself to some wizard bashing, it wouldn't add to the Prince's tribulations. C'me on you beastly, arrogating commoner. Give me the cue.

And Merlin obliged without knowing it. "Where's Arthur? What have they done to him?" He tried to sound as authoritative and demanding as his royal friend did in such situations but he failed miserably. Two days in this hell-hole, hungry, thirsty and no sign, no sound from the others. Then, only hours ago, Trickler's appearance and with it the knowledge in whose hands they were, the knowledge of who and what Alined was.

Merlin couldn't have cared less about whom a man took to his bed. He knew a whole variety of different people with different tastes and it didn't disturb him at all. But he _did_ care if people preferred having their 'fun' non-consensually and as humiliating as possible. On that score, Alined had a reputation to live up to. And he did not exactly prefer servants; the King's desire and ambition aimed much higher. If it had not been for his Crown and noble ancestry, Alined had been strung up for a slow and loathsome death years ago by some aggravated parent, sibling or friend of his victims.

Anticipation of what this perversion of a King could do had even ousted the all too familiar feeling of Blackrock's evil magic that somehow, miraculously, had made it to this stronghold.

As a result Merlin was afraid, bone-shaking so, and it showed. His voice quivered, his chin did the same and Antek's next words did nothing to help him.

"Arthur is in Alined's torture chamber, tied to a whipping pole, and it is your fault!"

With cruel joy Llanfair saw the other pale, swallow hard and tremble slightly.

"What are they doing to him?" Merlin, almighty, castle-destroying, noblemen-despising, Antek-tormenting Merlin, looked as if he would collapse any moment and the Count felt much better. He knew he hadn't been a heroic figure whilst on the rack and it rattled him that the gallant Pendragon Prince should have heard him scream and whimper. But this lifted his spirits, it really did.

"Alined says it's either you finally doing your duty or he'll have Arthur's flesh ripped off his bones with hot tongs!"

There was no need to say more. Merlin's vivid imagination carried him to all the nasty places without the Count's help and then it left him there, stranded.

With a badly hidden sneer, Antek saw the young man retch up painfully, albeit nothing came out. From an empty stomach not much _can_ be brought up.

"A fine protector of your Prince you are" Llanfair continued, determined to turn the knife in the wound as long as it was still fresh and hurting. "If you cannot come up with something, oh greatest of all magicians, Arthur will suffer the consequences."

Antek shook his head in well feigned sympathy. "And after all they've done to Arthur already. He was in very bad shape when I left him." That was, as Llanfair admitted to himself, grossly exaggerated, but who cared?

"What _have_ they done to him?" Merlin's face was smeared with tears and dirt, he looked pitifully enough but not enough for the man who begrudged him the destruction of all he'd ever had, including a big part of his already sensitive self-confidence.

"All kind of things" Antek drawled, thinking hastily of some ugly ways to abuse a prisoner. He and Arthur had been well treated until today, but the wizard didn't look the part of a pet prisoner. Which gave Antek an idea. "Have _you_ been fed? Have _you_ got any water? No? You see? And, just in case you as his alleged best friend have failed to notice, Arthur can't stand being locked in. And King Alined – there's a reason he gives one the creep, is there not?"

Merlin's thoughts frenzied. For the umpteenth time he tried to call his magic, but it was as useless as always. It was inside him, he could feel it, but it did not listen, did not obey him. It was blind, deaf and dumb, a piece of dead meat somewhere in his body.

Which left him with one solution only. Merlin darted to the locked door and hammered against it with all his remaining strength. "Let me out. I must speak to your King!"

As the warlock was dragged out by the guards, Antek strolled casually towards the wide open door, only to find it slammed in his face. Perplexed, he waited for a moment before he began to shout. "Hey, you imbeciles. Mission accomplished. Let me out. Your King wants to see me. Hey."

He was still yelling when all the others had left this part of the vaults for good, forgetting all about him.

This included King Alined, whose full attention was focused on the upset wizard from the moment Merlin was brought before him.

Merlin on the other hand could not have heeded him less. The young man's gaze darted around until it found what it had been searching for; the familiar form in the back of the chamber. Frantically he looked the Prince over and flinched as he found what he had dreaded - when Arthur had struggled against the henchmen's hands, ropes and chains earlier he had earned himself a few discoloured bruises and these superficial, harmless injuries were all Merlin needed to assume the very worst. "_Arthur_!"

The warlock wasn't a paragon of physical strength and martial arts but in this instant he wriggled and writhed so unexpectedly in the soldiers' grip that they couldn't hold him; he just slipped out of their fingers.

Arthur snapped to attention as Merlin ran – or hastily stumbled rather – towards him.

Unable to speak and with his hands bound behind the beam in his back he had only one way to tell the warlock that he wanted him to stay out of this, no matter what Alined said or did.

The Prince prepared himself, but when Merlin was only one step away from him, Arthur frowned.

Anxious, worried sick, at a loss at what to do – all of this was plain in Merlin's face but – was the idiot _smiling_ in spite of all that? _Now_? _Here_? The Prince couldn't believe it. True enough, smiling at Arthur Pendragon was as natural to Merlin as purring was to a cat but had nobody ever told him that a cat had no business purring whilst a pack of hyenas made ready to devour it?

Well, high time that someone _did_ tell him.

While his stomach turned and a sour liquid burned in his throat because he felt so terribly sorry, Arthur lunged out and kicked Merlin viciously enough to send him flying away from him and to the floor. In addition the Prince growled angrily under his gag as loud as he could; hoping that the meaning of the sound was obvious. "_Stay away from me_!_ Your help is not wanted_!"

"Don't touch him" Alined cut a soldier short a split second before the man's fist could land in Arthur's face. "Just tie his legs to the beam. That'll suffice."

As attentive as he had been towards Antek before, the King helped a dumbfounded Merlin to his feet; he even dusted the young man's clothes. The warlock, more shocked than hurt, let his uncomprehending stare wander back to Pendragon, his face an unspoken question "_What did you do that for? What do you want?_"

Arthur laid his whole heart into his own face and eyes as he returned the gaze, cursing his helplessness when he saw no understanding dawn on Merlin's features.

Alined shook his head to hide a small grin he couldn't at once suppress. "What our mutual princely friend is trying to tell you" the King said conversationally to the warlock "is, that he does not want you and me to become friends. But you see, he has no say in the matter. It's between you and me."

Roughly the King turned the warlock round, so that his back was turned towards the Prince and Merlin could no longer see him. "Now, let me get that straight" Alined continued. "I've taken hold of this book of spells" he pointed at the Rashnijaan "and I need your help to use it. It will make me very rich and as a result, I'll be very happy. If I'm happy, you and your Prince will stay alive and well. If I'm _not_ happy… do you follow my drift?"

An astonishing development took place in Merlin's face. First his eyes widened as he remembered the hot tongs but then he frowned, visibly astonished. "A book of spells! That's what this is about? A book of spells?" and it sounded like "_if you'd told me that before we all could be on our way home by now_."

"Didn't Trickler tell you what this is about? With what I need your help?"

Merlin shook his head. "No!"

A murderous kingly glare hit the Jester and the slimy coward cringed under it. He would get his reward for that blunder later and it wouldn't be a light punishment, he knew that much.

For the time being, Alined concentrated on the matter at hand. "See. It's not so very bad, is it? What say you, why don't we start right here and now. The sooner I have what I want the sooner we can untie your friend and no further harm will come to any of you. You've my solemn word for it."

Instinctively Merlin tried to turn, to gain some clue from Arthur but Alined stopped him. "No use staring at your Prince, he can't help you. You do as I say or my men will tear him to pieces before your eyes!"

With both an impressively comprehensive state-of-the-art collection of torture instruments and the peculiar but definitely less threatening book in plain sight, the warlock had little trouble making up his mind. Not for a second he doubted Alined's sincerity and whatever scruples Arthur had about helping a known rival of Camelot, they couldn't be as important as the Prince's life and well-being. Not that the royal prat would ever admit or even realize that!

As Merlin stretched out his hand for the Book of Demons, Trickler's shoulders slumped even more. Desperately he racked his brain for an excuse to get out before it was too late.

The Jester had almost collapsed creating the dampening field that so far hampered Merlin's magic, although it had been a minor spell, some 'warming-up' exercise, as the book called it. And yet the one brief contact had been enough to teach him to stay out of the thing's way. Up to this very moment the Rashnijaan drained Trickler's magic to keep the shield up and it was a horrific sensation.

In fact it had been this dampening field Merlin had felt earlier and mistaken for a leftover from his Blackrock-experience, as, albeit the shield in the late Llanfair stronghold had been a sophisticated, semi-permeable membrane which could bar or allow a magician's entry at its creator's will, Trickler's much inferior work was basically the same thing.

Merlin could not know that this shield was all that stood between his naturally inborn magic and the Rashnijaan's essentially unnatural power.

Alined gave the book to him, an expectant look on his strangely handsome-and-ugly-at-the-same-time face. For a moment Merlin weighed the leather clad volume indecisively in his hand. In his back the warlock heard Arthur stir restlessly, making clear without words that this was not what he wanted.

The thought grazed Merlin's mind that the book might contain something, a spell or anything, that could enable him to reach his restrained magic, with which, doubtlessly, both he and Arthur would be free in an instant. With fresh resolution he ignored Arthur's unnerved moan, opened the book and found – nothing at all.

Alined, who was looking over his shoulder, felt his eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. The pages were empty. No signs, letters, no figures or pictures – nothing.

Like a predator the King came for his unfortunate Court Jester and hit him with a vengeance. His fists drummed the hapless man as if he wanted to beat the living daylight out of him while he roared like a wounded dragon. "What do you take me for, you dog? Did you think you could betray me?"

"It's the shield, master" Trickler yelled, terrified out of his wits. "You aren't a magician you can't see anything and even if you were, with the shield in place you could not see the writing. It's an encryption. An encryption, master, just an encryption."

"Then lift the damn shield before we lose all day!" Alined foamed with rage.

Merlin, free to turn wherever he wanted since Alined had let go of him, sent Arthur a triumphant grin of anticipation. The connection between this ominous 'shield' and his restrained magic wasn't hard to figure out. "_Shield lifted, magic back, out of here_" his grin told the Prince reassuringly. Not for the life of him Merlin could understand why Arthur shook his head frantically; all the time trying to somehow loosen the gag that kept him from crying out loud, as he obviously wanted to do.

Merlin heard the Jester murmur something under his breath and with a satisfying rush his magic came back to him, filled his veins and mind as it had done since the day he was born.

The words he'd need to send them all packing were already forming in his mind when all of a sudden his vision blackened. A lightening seemed to flash through his brain, painful, confusing, overwhelming. Strange voices first whispered, then yelled at him. Ugly, distorted figures danced before his eyes; and, grinning sneeringly, they made fun of him.

Then the fire came to consume him. It began in his hands, crawled up his arms, into his head, his heart, his lungs and throat, until he could scream no longer.

Disbelieving, understanding nothing of what was happening, Alined saw the young warlock howl loudly and collapse while Arthur fought like a madman to free himself. Without thinking, acting on a mere hunch, the King unsheathed his knife, cut through the Prince's bonds and watched him dart to his friend's side, barely taking the time to pull the gag out of his mouth.

"God almighty can't you see that it is killing him" Arthur roared at the top of his voice.

In his back the King heard Trickler murmur something under his breath, not very coherent, apparently senseless.

But Merlin's howling ceased and his body relaxed. Limply he fell back into Arthur's lap who with one move ripped the Rashnijaan out of the wizard's hands and threw it away. Fast, very fast, but not fast enough to avoid another sickening, silent encounter with it. The evil seemed to seep in his skin like poison and he shuddered.

Alined felt that the situation called for some resolute action from him before he lost face altogether. "What happened?" he demanded to know from, of all non-experts in magic, Arthur Pendragon.

His hands cramped around Merlin's shoulders, the Prince inhaled to vent his shock and anguish by some verbal abuse but Trickler spoke first. "The book, master. It's true, he can't stand it. Perhaps if he'd been ….. prepared somehow, warned of what was to be expected…." He cleared his throat under Alined's hateful stare "the shield is back in place, so for the moment we are safe…."

As usual there was no pleasing his master for Trickler, no matter what he did. "Why didn't you tell me this would happen, you useless nitwit?"

"I….. I didn't know…. I thought….."

"But I knew" Arthur interrupted the Jester. "Hell, Alined, I _told _you to leave the book in peace. The thing is just murderous. Let me take it back to the Druids. It _must_ be destroyed before you get us all killed!"

The King's blade sent a shower of reflected light over the wall before it's point came to a halt a mere millimetre away from the Prince's throat. "Do not try to play me for a fool" Alined whispered in cold wrath. "Anwar used the book for more than twenty years and it didn't kill him. He even used it on you for all I know and yet I see you right before me."

Arthur winced when the steel pressed into his skin, a gentle yet unmistakable message, as much as the King's hard sneer "I advise you to tell me how Anwar gained access. There's still the rack, my boy, for your useless warlock friend, for Anwar's son, as long and dirty as you want it."

"But not for me?" Arthur replied sharply, more to hide his apprehension than to impress his opponent.

"For you I could think of some other occupations, don't you fear."

Somewhere in Arthur's brain the infamous voice whispered and sniggered and suddenly the Prince knew the answer. Against his will the words came into his mind, on his tongue and then, to his dismay, he heard himself speak, and speak on, until he had blurted it all out.

While Arthur was frozen stiff in shock at what he had just said, Alined's face lit up, the furious frown went and he was all benevolence again. "I knew you're a bright lad" he said "and it wasn't so very difficult to be reasonable, eh? Now you just tell me how I can make this bag of skin and bones perform the ritual" the point of his sword grazed Merlin's unconscious body "without him collapsing again, and then you can have a well deserved break."

Again, Arthur had no other chance but to speak out; as if his mouth and vocal cords were someone else's. "You mustn't use Merlin. You'll need him later on. Another sorcerer must perform the rites of initiation."

"Bravo, lad, that's first class thinking. If I need your little warlock friend, I also need you, don't I. So you're both off the hook."

Alined nodded approvingly, to Arthur's burning mortification. "Well, so much the better. I wanted you to have a prolonged stay as my guests anyhow."

The King turned and looked around, visibly musing about something. "Now let me see, two main characters are yet to be cast. Well, there's our friend Trickler here to fill the magician's role but who should be the other participant?"

Alined laid a finger on the top of his nose and pretended to think long and hard.

Arthur was about to revolt, to protest. Longingly his eyes hung at the sword at Alined's side, he knew, under normal circumstances the older man was no match for him. As the others had used the first opportunity to make themselves scarce; only two of the once five soldiers remained in the room, and they looked thoroughly intimidated by the mysterious events. It wasn't such a long way from here to the first floor, to the main exit. If only Merlin would come to, perhaps with Alined as their hostage, he could …..

"_Don't you dare think it, little dragon_" the familiar, infamous voice boomed through his head as if to split it in halves. "_Not one move, not one sound_."

And with a devastating feeling of recognition Arthur knew that it no longer mattered whether he wanted to obey this voice or not. Even if his mind was still free, his body was hopelessly trapped. "_Can't you see where this is going" _he replied inwardly "_damn it, he's your __**son**_! _Have you no heart at all_?"

The voice chuckled. "_Presently I don't. And that's exactly what this is about_."

The King chose this very moment to declare what had been clear from the very start. "I'm afraid young Antek will have to oblige. It's a crying shame, for such a handsome lad to die so very young, but I do not see another possibility. Do you?"


	19. The female touch

**1****9. The female touch**

A week had passed since Guinivere had heard or seen from Uther - or from any of her friends for that matter. They too were held somewhere in the Cymbrian castle, that much she knew, but preciously little else.

Slowly but surely isolation and uncertainty undermined her resistance. If she as much as thought about Arthur running off in the middle of the night without a word – followed, of course, by a certain warlock who obviously thought of no one but his Prince these days – Gwen's resolve to deny her captors the satisfaction of seeing her cry was reduced to zero.

She felt abandoned, betrayed, belittled, to say the very least and while her imagination ran wild with pictures of Arthur being sick, injured or running into a trap, her hurt pride made her wish some – lesser! - injury _might_ befall her husband, as a just punishment for what he'd done.

On top of it all she felt threatened and terribly humiliated by the perspectives the Cymbrian schemes gave her.

Admittedly she and her baby had been made comfortable and an – alas strictly non-talkative – wet nurse took care of the little boy most conscientiously. But other than young Prince-to-be Thomas Pendragon, his mother could draw no comfort from that.

As a result the said little Prince was showered with motherly attention more than any child could - or ever would - wish for.

Again, Guinivere had been impatient for her son to wake up from his nap and as soon as he had done her the favour, she had begun playing with him; throwing herself into the act until she forgot most of her surroundings and situation.

So she was violently startled by the door to her room being unlocked and reflexively she grabbed her child more closely.

Little Thomas, a true Pendragon in his firm belief in personal independence and liberty of action, rewarded that with an angry squeal.

"Guinivere?" a tentative female voice said. "That is your name, isn't it?" The other woman removed her hood and cloak and smiled kindly enough. "I'm Morgyan of Cymbria. King Cendred's sister."

Gwen forgot to answer as fury and spite rose in her soul. "_That's it_" she thought after one long look at her rival. "_No doubt about it. I'm divorced_. _No man can look at her and still notice __**me**__ afterwards_. _Especially not a man who runs from home, wife and child at the first opportunity!_"

"I wanted…." The Cymbrian Princess continued, but to no avail.

"I know what you want" Gwen spat. "Your brother's men made it very clear to me that a royal wedding is planned. You and _my _husband!"

"Actually there's been a change of plan. Now it's Uther and me, but that's not important right now….."

Gwen didn't get it. "But they said, as soon as Arthur is found, you and he…"

"But that's what I wanted to tell you" Morgyan blurted out agitatedly. "Arthur _has_ been found. I know what has become of him."

"And what would that be?" Guinivere felt the blood vanish from her face as her cheeks grew cold. This didn't sound very promising.

"Alined's men have apprehended him, Antek of Llanfair and this young sorcerer of yours somewhere near Blackrock. Apparently they forced your husband to recover something for them from the stronghold's rubble before they dragged them all away to heaven knows where. Only old Merco they left behind. He's told me everything; he's come to me an hour ago, half dead."

Morgyan smiled, a mysterious little smile, half fondly, half longingly. "It's so very much like Antek to give himself up for his old healer's sake, is it not? Antek has always been very devoted and selfless, even as a youth."

"Count Llanfair" Gwen said, utterly dumbfounded by the abstruse idea. "The Count of Llanfair selfless and devoted!"

_St. Antek_! Oh, for crying out loud! The alien concept was a welcome distraction from the other news the Cymbrian Princess had brought.

From the treaty negotiations in Camelot some years ago Guinivere remembered King Alined as she would remember a slimy, poisonous worm that had crawled into her food. The man's way of looking at Arthur when he thought no one noticed! Like a wild animal would scrutinize its prey. It had sent shivers down her spine back then and it certainly did so now.

Apparently Cendred's sister had no such memories to spoil her good cheer. "Your Druid friend Marwon told me this thing Arthur was forced to deliver could be very dangerous. I've decided I will go and rescue Antek. Will you come with me?"

"Excuse me?" This was too fast for Gwen. Morgyan was supposed to be an enemy, right?

"I just thought…" Morgyan hesitated. The Camelot woman looked at her, goggling like an imbecile. Could it be that there was something amiss with her? "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No" Gwen said flatly. "I don't!"

Morgyan was thoroughly disappointed. She had heard great things about this woman. The gallant rescue the servant girl had staged more than a year ago, to save her Prince from old Anwar of Llanfair – it had been heart-warming to hear for every other woman with a sense of honour and self-respect. Now it came to light that it had all been an exaggerated fairy-tale.

"What exactly did the Druids tell you?" Gwen interrupted the other woman's angry thoughts.

"There's a book, this Marwon fellow says" Morgyan repeated, very slowly, very patiently, which required a considerable effort on her side. "A book of evil magic called the Rashnijaan. For some reason Arthur decided to recover it from Blackrock and to bring it back to the Druid village. Alined wants to have the thing too and so he's taken your husband and the others."

Now even the Cymbrian Princess shuddered. "Alined is a pig, I will not leave Antek to him. I thought you might want to do as much for Arthur." She picked up her discarded cloak and shrugged. "But as you aren't interested….."

Finally Gwen's penny dropped. This sounded just like the Arthur she knew. He felt obliged to the Druids, much more than he was comfortable with, and to go on a secret quest, almost alone, to face all powers of evil on their behalf would be his idea of repaying that debt as a means to regain his self-esteem!

But the conclusion she drew from these thoughts - that was the best of it. "_So it had nothing to do with me or the child_!"

She smiled angelically, finally released from a part of her torment. True enough, Arthur could still be killed, maimed or meet any other misfortune on the way – but then, that was his and his wife's every day life. _Leaving_ his wife because he didn't love her was a much worse perspective.

Having come that far at lightning speed, Gwen's mind now made it all the way. She didn't care one bit about this absurd 'marrying-off-Uther' idea but _what_ had Morgyan just said about the younger Pendragon? "So you never wanted to marry Arthur?" Gwen tried to make sure that she had heard correctly.

Morgyan looked her over with all the arrogance a royal Princess could muster. "Do I look as if I needed my brother to capture me a man against his will? A Pendragon marriage was Cendred's idea, not mine."

"I do not think you'd need much force once a man had set eyes on you" Gwen said, the honesty doing her credit while the self-doubt did not. However, it finally won her Morgyan's affection.

"I've known Arthur for many years" the Cymbrian Princess grinned. "Since we all were page boys – or girls – at King Olaf's Court. He's kind and gentle under all his bully-façade and he's handsome. We like each other well enough, but I'm not his type."

Gwen felt dizzy with relief. She could hardly believe her luck. "And you would bring me out of here?"

"I will take Merco and Marwon back to the Druid village before I go and search for Antek, with or without you. If you prefer to stay here nice and comfy, I'll give Arthur your regards if and when I find him."

Guinivere winced under the barely hidden scorn of this jibe. Somehow Morgyan's beauty and high rank made this even worse. The other woman had all the advantages.

But this would end here and now, Gwen decided. "You will do no such thing" she said. "And if you ever come anywhere near my husband without my permission, I'll cut your heart out and that's a promise!"

A moment later a second cloak hit Gwen in the face, wrenching another indignant squeal from the baby. "Pull that on" Morgyan said, grinning more broadly. "And tell your little Crown Prince to be quiet."

"Just a moment. What about the others, Leon, his knights and Mirella?" She swallowed before she continued "and my father-in-law?"

Morgyan rolled her eyes impatiently. Gwen already assumed correctly that impatience was one of the fiery woman's most prominent shreds of character. "They'll have to stay. Mirella's pregnancy is an obstacle and as for the knights, they'd only send word to Camelot and give my brother's plans and whereabouts away."

Gwen now lifted her own chin defiantly. "I cannot leave our King and our knights in peril. I'm supposed to be the Crown Prince's wife."

"And I cannot endanger my brother's safety" Morgyan snapped back. "If Camelot hears of what he's done before he's come to a binding agreement with Uther, his life and our throne is not worth a farthing."

"Cendred should have thought of the risks before he abducted us."

The Cymbrian Princess turned away arrogantly. "Suit yourself. I'm not dependant on you."

"What about your plans if I scream?"

"If you scream I will not leave, Cendred will hear of this and Arthur will either stay Alined's prisoner or he'll change one captor for another, is that what you want?"

Gwen wrestled with her conscience. What she really wanted was to get out of here, snatch her wayward husband away under Alined's very nose – since she knew from last year's tribulations how gorgeous _that_ would make her feel – and run home to Camelot as fast as possible. Suddenly Camelot's strong walls seemed so very comforting and soothing that Camelot's tongue-wagging gossipers lost their threatening powers.

Morgyan saw the conflict in the other woman's face and softened a bit. "Without you and the child for hostages, my brother will not harm a hair on Uther's head" she said. "He fears Camelot's power like hell and he respects Uther, even though he'd never admit that. Cendred will keep your precious King much safer than his own Crown Jewels."

"But the men" Gwen insisted. "What about them?"

"Would Uther give a shilling for them?" Morgyan asked sarcastically.

Guinivere pouted briefly before she thought of her dignity. Besides, Morgyan was perfectly right. Unfortunately. "No" Gwen admitted with some defiance.

"But he would be angry if someone slaughtered them for nothing? Because knights and well trained soldiers are hard to come by?" Morgyan added, every inch a royal politician.

"Yes!" Gwen said curtly, cursing, as she had done a thousand times before, the special way royalty appreciated their fellow humans.

"Then my brother will not harm them" Morgyan said dismissively. "Why aggravate Uther and weaken a knight guard Cendred wants for an ally for nothing?" And it was obvious that the Cymbrian considered the matter closed.

It was also obvious that Morgyan was in command here. Gwen didn't like that much, but for the time being she was willing to let it go unchallenged.

It was a wise decision. As Cendred had said, his men worshipped their Princess. They also feared her tantrums and the remarkable sanctions Cendred used to deal out if his sister had been crossed. No one as much as asked about her intentions or permissions when she and a hooded group of unknown people demanded to be let out.

Therefore Guinivere, Thomas and Merco together with a most reluctant Marwon left the castle undisturbed in Morgyan's wake.

The Druid had not easily agreed to leave his sister behind, and without even telling her why. Silently Gwen was astonished that he should do such a thing at all, he'd never struck her as selfish or a coward. But Marwon, being a Druid, kept his motives to himself.

The ride was mostly silent as anyone dwelled on his or her own share of gloomy thoughts. Only on the arrival in the Druid village the withdrawn travellers turned into a bunch of babbling people, as Marwon tried to explain to his compatriots that he had come back alone, Merco tried to explain why he was back – also alone! – and Gwen tried to explain why she was back with her son but without her father-in-law or his men.

As they all talked at the same time to the same lot of astonished Druids, the effect of all the talking was practically nil.

Until Morgyan decided that she had had enough. "Quiet!" she roared and her voice echoed from the walls and trees that surrounded them. Suddenly Gwen remembered how it felt, to her, to Merlin, to everybody, when Arthur sprang into action, pushing all resistance or second thoughts aside.

With her blond hair, her armour, sword and autocratic attitude, Morgyan _was_ a female version of the Pendragon Crown Prince. "We don't have time for this. Merco will stay here; he's done more than enough. Marwon, you're with us, we need your knowledge about the Rashnijaan. Guinivere, you're sure you're up to it?"

Only now Thomas' mother had second thoughts. "I _am_ up to it" she said "Arenboarth and his healers made sure of that when I first came here…." Her look at her little boy made clear where her sudden qualms came from.

"Please tell me that you're not thinking about taking the child with you into battle" another voice said pleadingly from behind. "I'm sure neither his father nor his grandfather would ever forgive you."

"Who are you to speak to her like that…" Morgyan began to say, but she was cut short by Gwen hugging the stranger for dear life with her free arm. "Gaius! I thought you had been killed. When I didn't see you among the prisoners…." Gwen almost sobbed, only Morgyan's derisive snort prevailed.

"Are you a Druid?" the Princess asked the healer impatiently. "Or what business is this of yours?"

"He's King Uther's Court Physician" Merco chimed in. "And a magician!"

"And that's exactly why I am coming with you whilst this young Lady and her child will stay here" Gaius calmly explained.

"No I will not" Gwen protested. "No way."

"Agneta can take care of little Thomas. She has done so before. I would not stay behind in a quest to defeat the evil of the Rashnijaan before it can harm my people. Nobody has the right to deny the Lady Guinivere the right to do the same for her Prince!"

"_That explains it_" Gwen thought, taken aback. "_In order to chase after this book he was willing to forsake his own sister_!"

Meanwhile Gaius raised a brow and Morgyan glanced at Marwon, with surprise written all over her face. The fragile and insignificant looking, unobtrusive young Druid with the sand-coloured hair and the shy brown eyes had not stricken her as a man of decisive opinions, let alone a leader of his people.

But that was what Arenboarth's son proved to be. With a few words he ordered the best magicians among the Druids to create a warden spell that would hide the village from Cendred's men, something they – to their cost – had not thought necessary before. The indeed utterly exhausted Merco was ordered to take over Gaius' duties as a healer and, at last, everything was settled and decided.

Reminded of the damage the Cymbrian soldiers had done to the innocent Druid tribe, Morgyan preferred to hush her mouth during these discussions. It was painfully obvious that the not altogether unselfish rescue of Marwon could not make up for the more than two dozens of men, women and children Cendred's men had killed, or for the many wounded Druids. Or for Mirella and her husband staying behind in Cendred's hands.

So the Cymbrian Princess stood aside when Gwen took her leave of her little son whilst Gaius had trouble convincing a young Druid boy to let him go.

However the restraint took its toll on Morgyan's underdeveloped patience and she was at the end of her tether when she and her three companions could finally depart for Blackrock to pick up the track of Alined's men and their prisoners.

During the ride the others were once more lost in thoughts, and so Gaius had some time to think about what they would find at the end of their journey.

He had asked Mercator a few hasty questions in the Druid village, in spite of Morgyan's impatient fretting. How Merlin had been used to press Arthur into revealing the Rashnijaan's whereabouts was plain and simple enough, albeit it made Gaius' hairs stand up.

Some detail had struck him as odd, though. Why should Alined's men have released the old Llanfair healer, just like that? For sure, it was just like Alined not to antagonize Antek without dire need; the King liked keeping loopholes. But the witness to the abduction of Camelot's Crown Prince and the Count of Llanfair had to be a doomed man nevertheless.

After some hesitation Merco admitted that, although Alined's commander had made a big show of releasing him at Antek's request, a soldier had followed the healer, doubtlessly to dispose of him somewhere quiet and well out of the young Count's sight.

However Mercator, for all him looking like a daft old weasel, was as shrewd as one would wish. He, too, had once studied on the Isle of the Blessed and so the soldier had met an untimely end after drinking from a well that had been conveniently laced with poison. The man's horse, Merco said with some humble pride in his craftsmanship, had refused to drink from that water.

The unpleasant story of a knight who sent out a soldier to insidiously kill an old, unarmed civilian from behind told Gaius what they were up against.

It was also plain to him that neither Morgyan nor Guinivere had any kind of plan, that they were taking things as they came, nourishing their confidence and determination only by their fierce will to find their loved ones.

There was nothing for it; he'd have to do the same, as Gaius had no idea of what was in store for them either. Although what little he knew about the Book of Demons was enough to depress him thoroughly.

On their arrival in Blackrock, Marwon categorically refused to go anywhere near the ruins and so it fell to the two women and Gaius to enter Llanfair's grave, where, according to Merco, Arthur had thought to find the Rashnijaan.

Gwen almost froze in shock at the appalling sight of the body. Or rather, bodies. For the burial side harboured two men, Count Anwar of Llanfair and his life long friend, victim and murderer, Sir Badagere. The knight's remains, in a disgusting state of progressive decomposition, lay on the ground. His arm, peculiarly still attached to the body, outstretched; his hand cramped around the hilt of knife that was buried in Llanfair's chest.

From Merlin's report about the events around the old Count's death, Gaius knew that the knight should be hunched over his master's remains, as it had been the dying man's body weight that had at last driven the blade into the otherwise immortal Llanfair's heart.

So the bodies had been disturbed, doubtlessly by Arthur and the men who had forced him to reveal the Rashnijaan's resting place to them. The Prince had correctly assumed that the old Llanfair Wolf had taken the Book of Demons along into his grave. Apparently his head had been resting on it until Alined's henchmen had yanked it out, as Llanfair's skull was now bent over the barrow's side in an odd angle, as if it had been recently moved with some force.

Other than Badagere's corpse, Anwar's body showed almost no signs of decay or putrefaction. His eyes had sunk into his skull, his jaws were protruding and his claw-like hands, although still covered with flesh and bone, looked skeletal. But that was about it.

From where Gaius stood, it looked as if Anwar of Llanfair was grinning derisively. "_Exactly_" this grin seemed to say. "_I'm not easily destroyed._"

Camelot's Court Physician shook these morbid thoughts off with a will. "Merco was obviously correct". Angry that his voice should be hoarse enough to betray his feelings, he cleared his throat. "With Arthur's help they've found the book. As soon as these fools make it to their leader, Alined's got all he wanted: The Rashnijaan, the magician and the hostage to bring him to heel."

It sounded much harsher than he had intended, for inwardly Gaius was raging. Raging against another dead man and his selfish foolishness. "_Look at what you've done, Arenboarth. You had no right to drag them into this, no right to do this to me and Uther. If there's justice in the other world you'll suffer to all eternity for what you did to our boys!_"

"At least that means he needs them both alive" Gwen said bravely but her heart skipped a beat.

"It also means that he has to keep them somewhere; a place not too far away, not too obvious, but strong enough to keep a man like Arthur Pendragon prisoner without anyone being the wiser whilst half of Albion is looking for him." Morgyan was visibly in her element. "If I were Alined, I'd chosen a fortified building on Camelot's own territory; it would be the last place anyone would look for a kidnapped Pendragon."

She shook her head in anger, looking questioningly at the two Camelotians. "Blanchefleur would've been a perfect choice but it is occupied by Antek's men. That leaves….."

Gwen was at a loss. She had been bred and raised in Camelot but the list of royal or noble strongholds had not been part of her education.

However, Gaius had reason to remember many a noble family of the realm for one reason or another. "Markentower" he said in sudden revelation. "It's small, heavily fortified but mostly abandoned since old Sir Morden was executed for sorcery. Some people use it as a rest house with Camelot's permission, so a foreign group staying there would not draw immediate suspicion. It's far away from Camelot Castle but close enough to the busy Roman road to the North to look inconspicuous."

"That's our best bet then" the Princess replied relieved. "How far is it from here? Four, five hours on horseback?"

"More like a day's ride. Or a night's ride rather, as the sun must be setting by now."

"What are we waiting for?" Morgyan asked, already turning to leave the dreadful burial chamber. She had no need to say that after more than a week at their captors' mercy, any day more was one too many for the prisoners. "The sooner we find those rascals the sooner we can get our friends back."

Gaius didn't need to be told twice and he was already half way out in the corridor that led from the grave to the outside world when he noticed that Gwen was no longer behind him. Alarmed, he turned back, only to find her wrestling with the knife that was stuck in Llanfair's chest. "My Lady, what on earth…?

"There was something…. aach, it's stuck, blast it… something about this knife Merlin once said to me…. it's magic or something….damn it, it won't come out… anyway it had to be this knife and no other that could kill the bastard…and I…. think….. we need ….. all the support we can get. There, at last."

Triumphantly she held up the blade while she jumped over Badagere's body and its now severed right arm towards her healer friend. Gaius shoved her out before him, where he could see her. The sight of her messing around with the two bodies had been almost enough to make him puke.

In the very last moment, the physician turned back for a last look at Llanfair and his murderer. Gaius could not have said what had urged him to do it, but what he saw made his blood run cold.

Badagere's body had virtually vanished, his flesh and bones crumbled to dust as if he had been dead for centuries, his clothes tattered and rotten almost to invisibility.

Anwar of Llanfair's body still lay on the barrow, still looking at Gaius, still grinning.

With a stifled yell, Gaius took Guinivere's hand and ran, ran much faster than his age normally allowed, until they bumped into a fretting Morgyan who gave them an earful for vanishing like that without a word.

They found Marwon where they'd left him and together they rode into the falling dusk. To the north, towards Markentower. Marwon's magical abilities, limited as they were, were those of a hunter and after a short while he made out the traces of Alined's men and their involuntary companions. Led by his clear sight, they could go on much faster than before.

Gaius tried to concentrate on which of his long since buried magical abilities or spells might be useful in their upcoming struggle or if there might be a way to somehow contact Merlin. However, his mind refused to think of anything else but the last sight of Anwar of Llanfair, after Gwen had pulled out the blade.

Had the corpse's eyes been open and glittering from the very beginning?

Had they?

Gwen, on the other hand, felt strangely hilarious since she had recovered the knife. If this blade was magical, cursed or whatever made it strong enough to kill the Llanfair monster, it would be of great help although she not yet knew how. It had almost felt as if the blade had been calling out to her, tempting her to take it, to dare and use it. Now it was calling out to her to make haste, to reach Markentower as soon as possible. There was a feeling of urgency, of knowing that the blade was needed there, _now_.

Ridiculous, wasn't it. A knife talking to her inside her mind!

However, it wasn't that easy to reach the small moated castle and after a few hours they knew they had to rest, if only to save the horses from collapsing.

Marwon curled up and dozed off immediately, Gaius did the same after a short while. Both were envied by the two women, who could not sleep, whatever they tried. The thought of what might be happening to the men they loved in this very moment was too overwhelming.

To distract herself, Gwen began talking. Talking had always helped her unwind, as it had always calmed her to share her thoughts. "Morgyan, what will your brother do? I mean, won't he be mad at you?"

"Leave Cendred to me, I know how to handle him when the time comes" the Princess replied haughtily.

"But a Pendragon marriage was crucial for his succession plans."

"As was a royal marriage for his son and heir to Uther. Look what good it did him" Morgyan said drily. "Arthur married you and I will marry Antek. Just like that."

"So you and Antek are in a secret agreement" Gwen said, the romantic notion appealing to her much more than she cared to admit. Camelot's future Queen was bound and determined to show the other woman what a tough cookie she was; romanticisms surely were no way to do that.

"Not yet!" Morgyan said stubbornly and with an angry frown. "But we will be!"

And with that, she turned her back on Gwen and pretended to be fast asleep.

Gwen stayed awake and pondered. Most of all on Arthur and Merlin, and on her child of course, even a bit on Uther's wellbeing. But every so often her thoughts came back to the Cymbrian Princess and young Llanfair and the question whether the Count even knew that Morgyan loved him.

Somehow Guinivere was pretty sure that Antek did not.


	20. The male touch

**20****. The male touch**

"Gods almighty, I'll skin her alive!"

Brutally torn out of deepest slumber, Uther darted upwards until he stood perpendicularly in his bed. His face bare of even the tiniest bit of understanding he stared at the King of Cymbria who had just burst into his room, roaring like a madman in a most violent fit of manic depression.

If the head of the Pendragon dynasty had had any idea of how he looked in that moment, his face dull, his jaw hanging, hair tousled and nightshirt crumbled, with his hand searching uselessly for a sword that wasn't there – he'd jumped out of the bed and behind the nearest folding-screen at top speed.

Not that Uther was anything but a very attractive man. He had charm, aplomb, he was witty – at least in the rare moments in which he was _not_ mad at someone or something – and his manners were impeccable. Well, most of the time.

But Camelot _had_ provided him with a very good Chef and as her King she had kept him busy with all kinds of state affairs while his good-for-nothing son Arthur got all the exercise and the excitement…..

In his regal adornments and on his throne, Uther still looked utterly adorable. Unfortunately both supports were unavailable right now and so…. His Majesty of Camelot looked like what he was, a human being who had been through a lot lately, whose very first youth was gone and who in too tight, too short and – as it sported a shade of apricot that could only be called aggressive - cruelly miscoloured a nightgown stood no chance of being a royal sight.

Thinking that he was expected to say _something_, Uther finally found it in him to stammer a few words: "What the hell….?"

Cendred looked his counterpart over and shook his head. Not for the first time his better self asked him if marrying his sister off to a man whose _son_ was roughly of the same age as Morgyan was really such a splendid idea.

Which reminded him.

And on he yelled at an ear-crunching volume. "Your daughter-in-law! The bitch's abducted my sister!"

"I do beg your pardon?" In vain Uther's brain tried to process the idiotic image of the former handmaiden breaking from her prison single handed, subduing the fierce warrior woman, dragging her away through all the rows and ranks of Cendred's soldiers unhindered. What weapons would Guinivere have used, with one arm round Morgyan's neck and his baby grandson in the other?

Which reminded _him_ for a change. "Agneta, is that you?" he asked little Thomas' former wet-nurse.

Only now Cendred remembered that he had the wretched Druid woman still in tow. He jerked her forward and pushed her into Uther's arms.

"I'm sorry, Sire" Marwon's wife said sadly. "I had no other choice."

With a quick move she shoved the faintly vile smelling bundle she had been holding into Uther's hands, who was about to let the detestable thing fall to the ground when an upset wailing stopped him.

Pendragon stared at the suddenly wriggling bundle of cloth and a pair of sky blue eyes, furious and a bit red from crying, stared back at him.

He knew these eyes, he knew this accusing expression and it didn't matter at all that he knew them both from another, much fairer face.

In sudden recognition, the shock of what he had been about to do twisting his heart, Uther grabbed his grandson tightly and, as if a kind of strength and reassurance radiated from the little boy, he finally found his wits back. "Cendred, what the hell is this?"

The Cymbrian King snapped his mouth shut for a split second, taken aback by the fact that he wasn't the only one with a strong and healthy voice around here. "This woman" he continued a bit more subdued, pointing at Agneta "this woman came to my guards, telling them the most outrageous story about my sister and this Guinivere coming to her village. After pushing the baby on the Druids, Morgyan, your precious servant harlot and the Druid chief I had in custody went on some wild goose chase, apparently to find your Arthur and this nitwit, young Llanfair! Who are, by the way, Alined's prisoners, together with someone called Emrys."

Obviously the Cymbrian thought that this explained it all, as he stared at Uther with triumph in his face, leaving it to the other royal to make some head or tail of this crazy narrative.

Pendragon didn't like the last sentence, that much he knew, but for the rest of it – a blank page. Helplessly he stared at Agneta.

"Forgive me, Sire" she said despairingly. "The Lady Guinivere entrusted the child to me …" the Druid swallowed hard but then she lifted her chin and her voice became stronger, defiant. "The affairs of royalty or states are no concern of the Druids. I want Mirella and her Leon to be safe, even if my husband thought the search for the Rashnijaan is much more important. Mirella is with child too and Leon is one of us now. I can't abandon them like Marwon did, I won't."

Whereas this declaration sounded sufficiently impressive, it left the two Kings where they had been before – completely in the dark.

Cautiously Uther put little Thomas on the bed before he straightened his nightshirt with a determined pull. "Agneta" he began firmly but patiently. "Let's go back to the point where my son comes into things. What is this about Alined…"

That was as far as he came, for Cendred cared much more about other issues. "I'll have this servant wretch drawn and quartered for kidnapping my sister…"

"Cendred, for the Gods' sake, your sister is where Guinivere is and they both are after Arthur so SHUT YOUR DARN MOUTH BEFORE I FORGET MYSELF!

The Cymbrian guards stuck their heads into the room, wondering if their King might be in any need of assistance. Impatiently Cendred signalled them to stay where they were. This would better be good or he _would_ call those guards in and then he _would_ have some answers!

"Prince Arthur went after the Rashnijaan…" Agneta tried again to explain herself.

"The Rutchni what?" But while Uther spoke a memory came to him, took form and suddenly his throat constricted. His mind raced back to the day more than a year ago when Merlin had tried to contact his Prince telepathically, only to collapse, screaming with pain. Arenboarth's awkward question. "_Uther, what do you remember of a ritual I once talked to you about, a ritual called the Di'inshara_?"

"The Book of Demons" he said breathlessly. "Arthur went to recover the Book of Demons? _My _son? And Arenboarth allowed this madness?"

"I don't know if he allowed it or if he died before he could prevent it." Actually Agneta _did_ know parts of it, for Gaius had not kept the secret behind his earlier relapse to himself, but what good would this information do right now?

At long last, with many interruptions, questions, repetitions and explanations Agneta could finish her tale and both Kings had the impression that they knew what this was about.

Thankfully Cendred turned his wrath away from Guinivere and to the Count of Llanfair. "I cut him to pieces" he shouted. "Before he has my sister, I'll have his hide!"

"Seems to me that your sister is going to have _him_, not the other way round" Uther said, his mind elsewhere already. "Listen Cendred, this is serious. Arenboarth…."

"Who's that?" Cendred asked snappily.

"He was the leader of the Druid tribe you attacked in order to get me. He also was the Lord Druid of the Blessed Isle once and he told me a few things about this Book of Demons. No details, only that the thing holds incredible magic power, but at a devastating price. The Rashnijaan made Anwar both mad and powerful. Powerful enough for even you to fear him like hell … don't pout; we both know it's true."

Cendred shrugged angrily. Yes, it was true but that didn't mean he liked to be reminded of it.

Uther ignored the stubborn frown in his counterpart's face. "If Alined is trying to fill old Llanfair's boots….. Cendred, in your own best interest, we must join forces and find your sister and my son before it is too late!"

The Cymbrian pondered that for a moment. His eyes narrowed to slits as he scrutinized Uther carefully. "You're a sly old dog Uther Pendragon, but this won't wash" he finally rumbled good-naturedly. "I'll send my men after my sister and if they've to drag her back by her hair, I wouldn't mind. They'll also recover your misbegotten offspring and his bed-mate and we can finally attend to the family business that is really the issue here, in case you've forgotten."

"That is _not_ the issue at hand…"

"It is to me. And you're _my_ guest of honour, remember? Not vice versa."

"Cendred, listen to me…."

"I've more important things to fill my time than listening to some creepy dark fairy tales, Uther. And so have you." Cendred grinned and pointed at young Thomas Pendragon who had freed his legs from the sheets and pedalled happily in the air. "There's a little one without his parents. And as long as this valuable little jewel is lodging with me, you better curb your temper, Pendragon!"

Uther bit his lip. This was enough to drive anyone mad but there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do.

Damn the feeling that holding this baby gave him. Damn the vulnerability this feeling caused.

Pendragon forgot about the early days after Igraine had died, forgot about the doubts he'd had, how often he'd asked himself whether the tiny boy in the cradle had really been worth his mother's life.

He only remembered the consolation holding this tiny boy had finally given him, twenty four years ago. In all these years, in spite of all that had gone awry between him and his son, nothing had changed.

King Uther's _one_ weakness. Name it Arthur or Thomas, it didn't matter.

Cendred saw it, grinned, turned and shoved Agneta towards the door. "Come on, young Lady. Bringing the child to me was a splendid idea. It deserves a reward. Time to take your bloody in-laws out of my sight."

With a will Uther suppressed the sudden urge to wrench the Druid woman's neck, slowly and painfully. "Agneta, please, would you tell Leon I want him to go back to Camelot, to tell my people that Arthur and I are involved in secret negotiations with King Cendred. Under no circumstances we are to be disturbed!"

"What's that" Cendred interrupted suspiciously. "Some secret code to tell your men that you're in danger or what?"

"On the contrary. The last thing we both need is a third party messing around with the situation; it's twisted enough as it is."

The Cymbrian King hesitated. "What do you want now, Uther, eh? What's going on in that shrewd head of yours, I wonder."

Pendragon returned the distrustful stare evenly. "My son and his family must come out of this unharmed. My priorities have never changed. Have yours, now that your sister refuses to be your marionette?"

Cendred blushed; actually his whole head reddened. He searched for a fitting repartee but found none. "Your knight'll get the message; let's hope he's not too dumb to understand it" he finally pressed out.

"I thank you, Cendred!" Uther added a polite little bow of the head to his friendly words and had the pleasure of having the last word. The King of Cymbria could have dealt with another tantrum, an attack or another round of verbal abuse, but not with politeness and gratitude.

A polite Uther was definitely too much for him; Uther being polite when he had every reason to be murderous was enough to rob the other royal of his sleep, and, as a result, Cendred and Agneta made a hasty escape.

Feeling strangely hilarious and triumphant, Uther turned round, the planned bragging words already on his lips when he suddenly noticed that this was his grandchild, not his son.

At the tender age of a few weeks, little Thomas would hardly appreciate some lengthy deliberations on negotiating tactics. Especially not while the smell told a desperate tale of how very much his diapers had perished some time along the way.

For a very long moment the still aggravated sky blue eyes met the pair of steel-grey ones. "_This is your fault_" was the sky blue message. "_If you hadn't aggravated my father as you did, he'd never left Camelot, and if we were there, my mother wouldn't have left, and Merlin wouldn't have left, and we wouldn't be in that awful situation, and I would be fed regularly, and I would be pampered as I should be, for, you know, I'm supposed to be a __**Prince**_?"

"You're right, lad" Uther murmured. "I'm sorry. I know, sometimes I'm an idiot. It comes with the job I reckon. As a King you must be right, always, especially if you're wrong. But I know that's no excuse. So please, I beg you, would you forgive me?"

The little boy's face was still stern and punitive. "_Why didn't you say that to my father when he needed to hear it? Nothing of this would've happened!_"

"I don't know. I've made so many mistakes and he knows them all. I feared if I ever yielded I could never stop."

"_You're a lousy father, you know that_?"

"Yes. I know. But he was just like you once and somehow I thought he'd always be like that. When he became a man, I started to feel old and superfluous and I couldn't stand it. He chose his own friends and his own believes and I felt left out."

"_Nothing of this was his fault. Or mine. Shouldn't you've taken care of us instead of throwing us from one peril into another?_"

"I thought I did the right thing."

"_No you didn't. You knew sending my father to Llanfair and Blackrock was wrong. But you wanted to bring you foot down! There's a difference between being right and being cantankerous, you know."_

Uther started a bit. How the hell could little Thomas suddenly sound so very much like a certain insolent young warlock?

"_He was the one who was right all the time_" Thomas continued his silent accusatorial speech. "_You should've listened to Merlin more often_."

"What can I do to make amends, little one, eh? Tell me." Furtively Uther tickled the baby's chin. If he remembered correctly, Arthur had loved being tickled at that age. Not that his father had ever dared doing it. Someone might have seen His Majesty behaving like an ordinary father and where would've his authority gone if he'd ever allowed himself to be _ordinary_?

But Gaius had tickled and fondled the little Arthur, and the nurses had, actually everybody had; at least until the King had put a stop to this ridiculous behaviour that would only make the future Crown Prince weak and emotionally dependant.

Thomas wasn't so easily bribed. He frowned and it made his little face even more forbidding. "_You could change my diapers, for a start_. _I stink!_"

Some 40 minutes later the child was clean, in fresh – apricot coloured! - diapers and Uther was finally dressed in his own clothes.

Pendragon was disgustingly pleased with himself, as he had achieved this all by himself _and_ at low costs. Just a torn nightshirt (thank heaven for that), a broken washbowl and water jug together with a thoroughly soaked King. The latter didn't matter much, though. At the first opportunity young Thomas belched violently and the surplus milk he had had inside him came back up to adorn Pendragon's attire.

Another fifteen minutes later, grandfather and grandson sat on the bed, cleaned up again, and looked contentedly at the horrific mess they had created on the bedroom floor. Someone would come and clean it up eventually. If you're a Pendragon, someone always does.

Therefore Uther had all the leisure in the world to resume his mostly silent exchange with his grandson. "What kind of a grandpa am I, what say you?"

"_Not quite as complete a failure as you are as a father_" the eloquent eyes told him.

"Thank you ever so much!"

"_Would you please stop talking? I need to sleep!_"

"But it's still broad daylight! We could go on talking."

"_No. Sleep first_." Thomas' eyes were already closing; he yawned just once and Uther thought he did it just because he knew how very cute that looked.

"You're right, you need to rest. You were a great sparring partner. A true Pendragon."

Thomas wriggled faintly and visibly began to doze off. "_You know_" were the last words Uther's weird introspection read from the little boy's face "_If my father doesn't come back, I'll be the last of the Pendragons_."

Cautiously, as if the baby were an immensely precious piece of fragile glass, Uther laid him down.

Thomas was right, he thought.

All Uther could still fervently hope for was a second chance, a chance to finally tell his son what he had just told his grandchild.

Like hell he'd ever care again about what people might think!

He was the King of Camelot, the man who had once taken a Kingdom with his sword and recklessness alone; he could conquer everything, defeat anyone; he could do whatever he wanted – except one thing.

Not even Uther Pendragon could start anew a life that had been lived.

Cendred or no, Morgyan or any other woman - Igraine had been his wife and Arthur was his son.

And there was an end to it.

How very much it was like this son he'd raised to go after a thing like the Book of Demons on his own, without telling anyone.

Brave.

Valiant.

Selfless.

In other words, plain barmy!

"_There's no other word for it_" Uther thought. "_My son's a prat! Merlin y'hear me? You always __**were**__ right and I __**should**__ have listened to you more often but nothing of this will save your backside if you come back without him_!"

Not that the warlock ever would. He'd come back with his Prince in tow (or rather, letting himself being dragged along by Arthur for appearances' sake) or he'd not come back at all.

What brought Gaius back to mind and the fact that Uther hadn't heard from him.

If the old healer was dead – it didn't bear contemplating. If he was alive and the boys didn't come back – the Court Physician and his King still might become two old, useless scarecrows for ever mourning what could've but had not been.

Better not think about it.

And one day a certain King of Camelot would be hard put to explain to his grandson why he was an orphan.

Better not think about that either.

Gods almighty, let them come back. And while you're at it, there's still a little boy who hasn't been consulted before he was born a Pendragon and who's in dire need to have his mother back, too.

I know I'm a preposterous idiot, a pompous asshole, a constant sinner, undeserving of your mercy but whatever I've done in my lifetime, I still deserve to die before my child.


	21. Hostile friend

**2****1. Hostile friend**

Two days prior to Uther's involuntary reunion with his grandson, things had reached a climax for Alined's prisoners.

Antek rose when he heard someone approaching his prison. "Hey! Let me out. Hey!" In addition to yelling his head off he kicked against the door for all he was worth.

Alined's soldiers opened the cell and went for the prisoner without any ado, swinging a vicious looking leather strap. "Stop ya' ruckus or I'll peel you like an apple."

The threat did nothing to keep the Count of Llanfair from vociferating his heart-felt grievances "Blast you; your King will have your miserable heads for forgetting me in here."

Unfortunately for Antek, the older of the two guards was the one who'd had the pleasure of thrashing the high ranking noble before and, after a lifetime as Alined's henchman, the man was too far gone on the high road to perdition to like anything better than an encore of this delightful experience.

Hence Llanfair, when he reached the extemporaneous torture chamber, could barely stand. With his head throbbing maddeningly, he needed a moment before he recognized everyone.

Arthur was kneeling on the ground, held in check by two of Alined's soldiers and their swords. And by the fact that an only semi-conscious warlock was lying in his lap.

Alined and Trickler stood behind the rack that was still situated in the room's centre. Even in his miserable state Antek noticed that Trickler was sweating profoundly, cringed more than usual in an obvious wish to make himself invisible.

The King on the other hand showed all signs of impatience. "Tie him down" he gnarled "damn your laziness, make haste about it!"

Only as his back made hard contact with the rack's bench Llanfair understood that these words had referred to him; he protested vehemently until a rag was stuffed into his mouth and pulled tight behind his neck.

Antek's heart was racing. What was happening? This wasn't good, no, no, no, this wasn't good at all.

For no sensible reason at all he was convinced that Arthur could end this lunacy with _one_ word. So why the hell didn't the Prince _say_ anything? It was all well and good that Camelot's darling seemed unhurt but couldn't he at least _try_ to keep his friend and fellow noble in the same desirable state?

"Alined, please, you must believe me, you do not want to do this!"

Antek closed his eyes, sighing with relief. It wasn't exactly what he had expected to hear from the Prince, but it sure was a start.

However, when Llanfair opened his eyes again, one good look at Alined cruelly destroyed the young Count's illusions.

The King's face and voice were laden with genuine thirst to know more about the Rashnijaan. Yet the curiosity was laced with something else, something like joyful anticipation where joy should have no business. "Tell me, Arthur, as you're so knowledgeable about the Book's demands, is it necessary that you and your warlock friend watch the ritual and the actual sacrifice?"

"_Sacrifice_?" Antek thought, panicking. "_What sacrifice_?"

"Your Grace, you must stop this madness before it…."

Arthur stopped in mid-sentence, as if someone had taken him by the throat and _made_ him stop. Actually, someone had done exactly that, albeit not from the out- but from the inside. "_Don't you __**dare**__ spoil it, little dragon. I've been looking forward to this far too long. __**Hold Your Tongue**__!_"

Arthur struggled to regain control of his body but it was in vain. He stared into Alined's face wishing desperately that the man for once should be able to look beyond his greed and see that he was digging his own grave.

But all the King saw was a defenceless prisoner feeling shamed that he had saved himself on a friend's expense and that was a kind of shame Alined knew only too well from many, many occasions. "Well then, as you cannot make up your mind, I see no reason why you should not see the result of your suggestions first hand."

Whilst he spoke, Alined pointed at Arthur and Merlin and his guards reacted promptly.

As Pendragon didn't resist when they once more tied him to the beam, the King was sure that he had broken the young man's spirit; the more so as the Prince did not object to Merlin being tied up by his side. The warlock came to half way through the procedure, moaning pitifully and still Arthur showed no reaction at all, apparently fully focussed on his own misery.

Alined was the tiniest bit disappointed. He had expected much more resistance from his captive. He always delighted in overcoming the first hefty struggle. Inevitably it led to realization that there was no escape, no hope left but to surrender. This moment of truth was one of Alined's favourites. Who would have thought that Camelot's Crown Prince would give up so easily?

Well, one could not have everything, and Uther's son was still a prize catch as well as a very handsome boy.

"You know what, my dear Count Llanfair?" Alined came back to the matter at hand. "You're really at the core of things here. You were willing to sell the Book of Demons to me without the slightest idea what you were giving away, you betrayed your Pendragon friend when you sold his warlock to my men and you told my soldiers how to press Arthur into revealing the book's whereabouts."

With genuine fondness the King stroked the matted mass of jet black hair. Enjoying it when Antek winced and pulled at his bonds in a futile attempt to get away. With a sting of regret Alined admired the radiant emerald green eyes, the smooth, honey-coloured skin of the chest. Where it wasn't hurt. What a waste…..

"You can hardly blame our dear Prince for playing like with like" he told Antek gently. "You know, it was your dear Pendragon friend who told me that your heart's blood would give me power over the Rashnijaan."

Antek screamed, terrified out of his wits; he struggled until his wrists and ankles bled.

The gag muffled his screams and yet Merlin, nauseous and giddy as he still was, was sure that Llanfair was screaming Arthur's name. Great Mother, the man was an imbecile, a supercilious idiot and what not but this went too far. Instinctively Merlin reached out to his magic, only to feel blackness approach him again. One thing was certain: There was nothing _he_ would do to help Antek any time soon.

"Arthur for the Gods' sake, _do_ something. You can't let him die!"

Not that Merlin's outcry didn't make it to Arthur's ears. Not that the Prince, aghast at what he had set into motion, wouldn't have loved to try talking Alined out of this. Not that he wouldn't have loved to break free from the only sloppily and superficially bound ropes. But as it was, he couldn't.

In Arthur's mind his real captor's voice could barely hide the pleasant anticipation of Antek's imminent death, and a gruesomely slow, dragged out death at that. "_The knife is gone_" said the voice which by right should be silent and forgotten. "_I'm almost free." _Impatiently the spectre strengthened his grip on his captive. "_Say it, little dragon. Say it now!"_

Grudgingly, fighting the spirit's hold over him every step of the way without anyone noticing it, Arthur volunteered to explain the exact course of the ritual, every cut Trickler's blade would have to make into Antek's body, every incantation that would be needed and every gesture that had to go with them.

It was a long description and it left no room for doubt that young Llanfair would scream himself to death for many an hour before it was over.

Antek froze on the rack. At first he couldn't believe it; he couldn't understand that Arthur Pendragon should be capable of this kind of betrayal.

What finally showed the wretched noble that he wasn't caught in a horrible nightmare, that this was real; real and inescapable, was Merlin's enraged scream "Arthur, shut up. How can you…"

Arthur turned to Merlin when he felt the warlock's body tense with a start. The Prince wanted to apologize; he tried to explain that the whole thing wasn't his idea but it was no use, nothing came out. Tears of anger and frustration were hard to restrain as he saw that Merlin was too appalled to even look at him.

In truth, it had nothing to do with the warlock being disgusted by what _Arthur_ had done. Not any more.

"_My dear young friend. What an inappropriate way to address one's master._" At first Merlin did not recognize the calm but slightly amused voice in his head that had startled him. It was familiar, and yet….. "_You did not really think you and this sad excuse for a knight Badagere had defeated me, did you?_"

Tired, sluggish and overawed as he was, it took Merlin a while to finally put two and two together. But somewhere in his memory an older picture of the Rashnijaan was hovering. Another room, another place. The very same Book on a table. Arthur in front of it; willing to undergo a procedure the horror of which he couldn't even begin to comprehend. "_Arthur, run. Don't do this. It's a lie, it's all a lie…._"

And then the warlock's mind had been hit with ferocious force and he had once more been kicked out of Blackrock, unable to hold on to his mental connection with Arthur. As always, Anwar of Llanfair had been the one to decide whether Merlin could hear and see his friend's torment or not.

"_You're dead_" Merlin now replied silently. Trying not to tremble. Trying to stay as calm and composed as the enemy was. Yet the unexpected presence in his mind was so very alien, so unnatural and poisonous - his restrained magic rose to reject it, to cast it out, leaving the wizard choking, fighting to stay conscious. "_You're dead and rotten_! _You're dead, dead, dead_!"

Merlin writhed with disgust when Anwar's incorporeal voice chuckled softly in his mind. "_I'm feeling more alive with every passing minute. By the way, don't try that again. Your magic is no match for the Book of Demons_. _The two aren't ….. compatible._"

"_Where are you? If you want to fight this out, show yourself!_"

"_I had become a part of the Book, didn't you know that? Really, for such an important warlock you're grossly untutored. The Rashnijaan's magic is fed by the demons' vital energy that once was banned into the book. Since then it has the power to draw in a man's soul, bit by bit, every time he uses it. Once the Book has got full hold of you, you become a part of it when your body dies, as much as the demons are_."

At once, Merlin's gaze wandered to the Book of Demons Trickler was just lifting up by Alined's command. To begin the ritual Arthur had described. The ritual that would end only when Antek's heart would be cut out of his body while it still beat.

"_Don't get your hopes up; I'm no longer in the Book. You could destroy it – if you __**could**__ destroy it, that is – and still I would be with you_. _You can do nothing to fight me_."

Merlin laid all his disgust, all his anger into his silent retort. "_I wouldn't be so sure if I were you. If you want to fight me, you're welcome to try. Where are you_?"

"_But I'm here, Merlin. Right at your side. Don't you see me_?"

Slowly, the warlock looked up. His questioning stare met Arthur's gaze and suddenly no questions were left unanswered. Merlin's legs became jelly and only the restraints kept him upright.

"_The Di'inshara's power is amazing, don't you think?_ _Arthur's body is mine. His hands, his legs – even his voice. Naturally I'm not sure if I could make it back to the Book if the Prince would die now. But then, I could perhaps take him with me. Do you think he'd like being caged inside this out-worldly dimension to all eternity? Would you want to give it a try? Cut your friend's throat and see what happens_?"

Arthur had once, in a moment of uncharacteristic openness, told Merlin what defeat and humiliation meant to a warrior. How it felt. How one chewed on it. How it hurt. How it burned a man's inside, using his own pride and self-respect for fuel.

Back then, the warlock had mentally filed that away under 'knights' code and other rubbish'. Now he knew exactly what the royal had been talking about. He experienced it all, first hand.

"_If this is about you and me, why can't you leave them both alone_" Merlin said, pleading now, as threatening was no longer an option. "_I know I destroyed your plans, I enabled Badagere to kill you. Why Arthur again? Why Antek_?_ If it is me you want?_"

"_You're rushing ahead of things too quickly, Merlin. This is only the first step on a long way. Eventually I'll need your help, your support_."

"_For that you can wait until it snows in hell_!"

"_Arthur never spoke about the Di'inshara? That I once had his thoughts, his memories, his feelings, his whole being at my mercy, together with his body? Didn't he tell you how I used this power during the first eight days after the ritual? No? Well, must have been too shameful for him. But surely you remember this_!"

In the same instant a familiar agony washed over Merlin, drowned his thoughts and his resistance as it had done once before. It wasn't his own body that was suffering; he could've shut the pain out, and the anguish. But that would've helped only him. Not Arthur. "_Leave him alone. Let go of him. Please, please, let go of him_!"

The wizard felt Arthur's exhausted body sag against his own when the spectre ceased to torment him. "_Let's not beat around the bush, Merlin_" the hated voice said soberly, sensibly. "_There is nothing you'd __**not**__ do to free your friend. And I could dissolve the bond of the Di'inshara at any given moment_. _For a price_!"

"_Anything_" Merlin said inwardly, his resistance crushed. "_Just stop torturing him. I'm sure, Uther would…._"

"_I do no longer care for Kings and Crowns or for a petty revenge on a mere mortal like Uther Pendragon. I'm gambling for much higher stakes_."

"_What stakes_?"

"_Shhhh, dear warlock. The sacrifice is about to begin. You're going to miss the best part_."

Abruptly Merlin felt that the presence had left him; that it had withdrawn to whence it had come. Now that he knew where to look he could sense it in the Prince, like an illness that violated his friend's body. "Arthur I… I'm sorry…."

"Don't look" Pendragon whispered for an answer. "Just don't look. And it's me who's sorry."

"Arthur, I know what…"

The Prince winced in pain and Merlin got the message. He shut his mouth immediately.

Antek on the other hand, seeing the blade in Alined's hand approaching his exposed belly, had no cause to be silent, he screamed under the gag and renewed his struggling.

Neither he nor his captors had observed anything of what had been going on between Arthur, Merlin and a third person they did not know to be there. Instead the unholy triangle of Alined, Trickler and their intended victim were completely lost in their own situation.

The King's guards had long since fled the room for good.

Trickler was the first to notice that something was wrong. The letters and drawings in the Rashnijaan moved before his eyes. His sight became blurred, suddenly he had trouble breathing. He stammered his way through the incantations, gasping for air. Gods, it was so very hot, so sticky, he couldn't breathe. He just couldn't breathe…. The Book was heavy in his hands, if only he could put it down….

A last time Alined stroked Antek's hair before he raised his hand determinedly to bring the blade down for the first cut into Llanfair's skin. Directly into the left thigh, drawing the first blood to quench the Rashnijaan's thirst. To make the demons' power _his_.

Slowly, very slowly, the blade made its way towards its mark.

The King tried to bring it down but somehow the knife wouldn't obey him. Angrily he pushed down but as if drawn by an invisible string, the blade went upwards instead.

Up, and up, and up, away from Antek's helpless body towards another who was unsuspecting of the approach.

The torch light flickered; the room felt unnaturally cold and damp. Darkness seeped from every corner. Only the blade still shone and sparkled while it moved through the air with agonizing tardiness, dragging Alined's limp hand along.

Trickler's eyes were glued to the Book; he tried to read faster, to get it over with, to get away from this room, this madness. This was all wrong, all wrong, he shouldn't have told his master anything about the Rashnijaan, why, oh, why had he ever mentioned the damn thing….

The Court Jester was still mumbling spells, still chastising himself when Alined's knife reached his neck and cut his throat open from one side to the other with a single fierce move.

Trickler's blood splattered from the gaping wound, on the prisoner before him, on Alined's face and arm but most of all on the Book he had been holding; which he still held until his legs finally gave way beneath him and he fell.

He wasn't dead when he reached the floor. Uncomprehending he stared around him. From his torn vocal cords came some horrible gurgling sounds before, at last, he lay still. His eyes were wide open. Still directed at what he had seen during his last moments. Still desperately asking why this had happened. What he had done to deserve this.

Alined bent down to lift the Rashnijaan from the floor. "Interesting" he said. "Dry. And clean. I'd forgotten that. It really drinks the blood. When I first made it mine it was the same. My wife bled like a slaughtered pig all over the place back then. But the Book was dry and clean."

The King looked up. "She was Badagere's sister, you know. As stupid as her brother. After she'd given me a son, she was no longer useful. I told Badagere she'd had a riding accident. Fell down and broke her neck, I said. And he said he believed me."

Casually, relaxed, he strode to Arthur's side.

The Prince pulled his head back but couldn't avoid the touch of the bloody fingers on his cheek. "Feels much better, doesn't it. Now that I'm no longer inside you. But don't you forget, little dragon. It's courtesy only. I can withdraw the privilege, any time you give me cause."

"Where's Alined?" Arthur asked calmly, ignoring the jibe. He knew these little games too well to be baited that easily.

"Dead. Or in the Book. How should I know? I just needed a body to myself; and a body of a man whose orders are obeyed. It's always a pleasure to share your body for a while, Arthur, but I doubt that Alined's men would jump to do _your_ bidding!"

"Who are you?" Merlin said tensely. For some reason he wanted to hear it, although he already knew who was talking to them. "_What_ are you?"

"Come, come, my wizard friend. You can't be _that_ dumb. If you are, I'm sure our Prince here can spell it out for you."

The man who'd been Anwar of Llanfair and who now owned King Alined's body turned round and frowned. "And while you're at it, Arthur, maybe you could explain a thing or two to Antek. That is, as soon as he wakes up."

"It's always a pleasure to tell your son what kind of a man his father is!"

Anwar/Alined grinned wolfishly, a clear reminder that he hadn't been called the Llanfair wolf during his lifetime for nothing. "And what a pleasure it always was to make you bow that stiff neck of yours to me. Luckily I have all the time in the world to give you a refresher course while we wait."

"_Arthur, be quiet_" Merlin thought despairingly. "_Please, I beg you. Hush your mouth just this once_!"

Of course the Prince had other ideas. "And what, pray enlighten me, are we waiting for?"

"A visitor who's already on her way to bring me a very special item. As soon as she's arrived, we can finish what we started. Aren't you excited to be a part of this?"

With a side glance at Merlin, Anwar/Alined ruffled Arthur's hair playfully. He had always loved to do this, albeit for other reasons than Alined. For the new inhabitant of the late King's body, the gesture had no more sensuality than stroking a dog would have. "You must admit Arthur, there's nothing more adventurous than a quest for the power of life and death itself."


	22. To the limit and beyond

**22****. To the limit and beyond**

Leaning against the wall of their dimly lit – as well as disgustingly unfurnished – cell, Antek of Llanfair blew up his cheeks in anger.

"Save your breath, Arthur. I don't believe a word of this resurrection stuff. My father is dead." He laughed briefly but it sounded more hysterically than amused. "He died _twice_. Your warlock killed him and then our own Head Knight stabbed a knife into his heart. End of story. Finalmente. Basta!"

"But I'm telling you…."

"No!" Antek was shouting now. "I do not wanna hear this! God forgive me, I was hilarious when he died. I tried to love him and obey him as his son, but you, _you_ of all people should know that that was impossible!"

Arthur bit his lip. That much was true. "I do remember what you once did. You were willing to give up your birthright, your inheritance - everything and throw yourself at Camelot's mercy, just to bring me home. I haven't forgotten, even though you've shit on our friendship since then."

"A lot has happened since then" Antek muttered stubbornly, a bit ashamed of his outburst. "I had my own people to consider!" He threw his head back in the unique way he had, that of an angered pony. "Let Anwar of Llanfair rot in peace. I do not want him back to torment anyone and neither do you. God, the state you were in the day he finally released you from his chambers…"

"Antek, he _is_ back to torment us. I'm not making this up, I know how it feels to have him inside my mind, inside my…." Arthur broke off.

Young Llanfair's eyes were very big, uncomprehending, but shining with a childlike curiosity. Brash, outrageous curiosity and yet utterly endearing because it was so perfectly innocent.

It was one of these moments in which the high and mighty Count of Llanfair was so very much Merlin no. 2 that it squeezed Arthur's heart and the Prince knew that, no matter what the impossible, impulsive and more than a bit selfish Count did, he'd always forgive him in the end.

Antek sensed that he'd won an advantage; that he could go on prying into Arthur's soul without being pummelled for it. He trusted his ability to know when he'd bewitched another person; it was an even keener instinct for survival than the Count's admittedly fine swordsmanship. So, naturally Arthur was talking superstitious nonsense, maybe his nerves had suffered from the strain. And why not? Even the Prince of Camelot was only human. But this was a chance in a million to learn what had happened between him and Antek's father, a thing Antek had always wanted to know. And as they hadn't anything better to do…..

Gracefully Llanfair sat down on the straw covered floor; cross-legged, back erect he looked up at the Prince sympathetically. "You never said what my father did to you. I mean, after this so called ritual Badagere told me about…." It was just a pebble thrown into a dark pond but it worked a treat.

Arthur's head snapped towards Antek and he became as white as a sheet. "Badagere _told_ you about the ritual?"

"Yes" Llanfair said. It was a lie but Arthur couldn't know that, could he? Merco had made a few hints about Arthur having delivered himself into Anwar's hands by some hocus-pocus ceremony; that was all the information Antek had. But, being blessed with a lively imagination and unlike Arthur unhampered by any exaggerated sense of propriety, he made the most of what he had. "Badagere told me all about it. Must have been horrible for you….."

Anwar had _loved_ doing horrible things, especially to a Pendragon Prince, so that was a safe bet.

Llanfair's features showed nothing of the satisfaction he felt when he saw Arthur shudder. Not because he liked seeing his friend suffer but because he anticipated some interesting news.

However, Pendragon kept silent and that was not what Antek had intended. So he decided to help Arthur along. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault….. there was nothing you could do….." A sudden memory made Antek suppress a grin. Yes, that must have been it. "After all you thought you were doing it for your father's sake."

The one sentence set an astonishing chain of thoughts in motion inside the Pendragon Prince.

For certain, he didn't want anyone to know what Anwar had done to him. Actually that had been his main motivation for going on this lunatic quest – and without Merlin! – in the first place.

The chronicle of what Anwar had done was still in the Book of Demons, as Arthur knew, and once it was destroyed the warlock would never find out what his Prince had done. Merlin would never know that Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, one of the best warriors and knights in all Albion, was a spineless coward without pride, without honour or any common decency.

It was equally essential that Uther and Guinivere were kept in the dark. Arthur felt that his very existence depended on it; he'd gladly have died had there been no other way to keep his secret.

But at the same time, being alone with these memories was devastating. The strangling fear of what they would think should it all come out had poisoned his relationship with his father more than anything Uther had done and it had put an unbearable pressure on his marriage and on his friendship with Merlin.

True enough, he had told Arenboarth something about it but that had barely scratched the surface of what the old Llanfair wolf had done.

And now here he was, with Antek-who-already-knew-some-of-it, and who obviously was more than a bit understanding. He was Anwar's son; he knew how his father's mind worked. He was the perfect - in fact the only possible - confessor and once that idea had taken hold of Arthur, his inner barriers melted away like ice in the sun. As if under an inner pressure, he began to talk.

His first halting words catapulted Arthur back in time and space and brought him back to Blackrock's vaults. The taste of Anwar's blood and his own bile from the Di'inshara ritual still in his mouth. Badagere had just left him when Anwar's men came to take him – wherever they wanted; in that moment he didn't care.

It took him a while to realize that he had been dragged to Anwar's chambers. He had been held here before. The old Llanfair wolf found great pleasure in using his royal hostage as his own personal valet from time to time; doubtlessly this was no exception to the rule.

In a way Arthur was grateful for the opportunity to speak to his captor as Anwar hadn't told him anything about Uther's situation earlier. "My Lord?" he said neutrally, waiting for a chance to bring it up.

Anwar was standing by his desk, apparently not very interested in his prisoner's arrival. "Get yourself cleaned up. Over there, behind the screen."

"About my father Sir, please I…." and that was when Arthur felt it for the very first time. Something cold, almost slimy in his throat. A whisper in his mind. "_Shut up and do as I say__!_"

Arthur cleared his throat, tried to focus on the old man by the desk. He _had_ to know that Uther was safe; he had to know _now_, this instant. "You gave me your word, Count Anwar. My life and freedom in exchange for my father's safe return to Camelot. You promised me."

The pain exploded in Arthur's head, ran down his spine and made his body burn as if on fire. He screamed and fell to his knees, blind and deaf to anything whilst it lasted. He had once thought the torture in the dungeons would kill him but this was worse. Much worse.

After what felt like hours he could finally see and hear again; he was on the floor, curled up into a tight ball, sobbing.

"_I said, get yourself cleaned up_!"

With an effort Arthur raised his head to look at Llanfair who was still at the other end of the room, frowning, looking at some papers in his hands.

"_If I have to repeat myself once more you will regret it__!_"

This time Arthur was certain that Llanfair hadn't said a word.

"_From now on everything between you and me is private, Arthur. Very private. Unless you force me to reveal it to others. To your father for example__._"

"How…" Arthur didn't get it. The man wasn't even _looking_ in his direction.

"_I'm in your head, little dragon. In case you haven't noticed. That's what this ritual was about. I told you. You're mine now, body and soul__._"

The shock was all the more overwhelming as it crept up on Arthur slowly while the pain in his body gradually abated.

Magic. All this time he'd thought the old Count's actions to be the ravings of a lunatic; just madness without anything behind it. Instead it was a kind of sorcery he'd never seen before. No blinding lights, no walls burst open or broken bones but something moving at will in Arthur's head, like an animal that had made its way inside his skull.

"_You still don't catch on? I've to show you some more__._"

Arthur rose to his feet and walked over to the screen with the washbasin and the set of fresh clothes behind it. He tidied himself up and changed, exactly as he had been told to. Only that it wasn't him who was doing it.

There wasn't one muscle or sinew in his body still under his control. He moved and acted perfectly natural, no one would've seen any difference. And yet he was a mere puppet on a string and Anwar was the puppeteer.

Arthur wanted to protest, to scream or fight. With all his strength he fought for control over his body, over his voice but it was as if his will and mind, his whole being ran against solid walls inside his own brain. He shouted, kicked and threw himself against them but whatever he did, nothing came out.

When he felt Anwar's hand on his arm he couldn't even flinch, although he felt like throwing up any moment. "_You see, I no longer need a rag and scarf to gag you_" the monster whispered **inside** his ear. "_And it's no big deal at all. I could use your body to any possible end. If I wanted you to kill Uther, you'd do it without hesitation_. _Or rather, your body would._"

"Y_ou captured my father and tricked me into this ritual so that you could make me kill him?_" At any other time Arthur would've marvelled at how easy it was to speak in his mind. Right now he couldn't have cared less about his new ability.

"_No, little dragon. First and foremost this is about getting to know you better. To know you more intimately, so to speak_."

And so it began.

Rather harmlessly, at first.

Anwar's presence brushed against Arthur's thoughts, a disgusting, appalling touch, if quite gentle.

Out of the blue a memory came to the Prince's mind. Nothing spectacular, just some pictures and sounds from his last days as the careless, youthful Prince of Camelot he'd once been. Before Uther had sent him to Blackrock.

Suddenly Arthur remembered, without knowing why, an afternoon he had spent with Guinivere in the forest. It was a memory he highly treasured, not so much for what had really happened but for what he associated with it. His most private thoughts about her. Arthur relived it all now, vividly, and it felt as wonderful as if it was actually happening to him again, in this very moment.

Until he finally grasped what this was all about. "_Let me see her more clearly_" the presence in his mind said eagerly. "_She really is pretty. But then, if you didn't think so too you wouldn't date her without your father's knowledge, would you. Now let me see what you really want from her…._"

And Anwar _did_ see it. Every little detail of what Arthur thought when he kissed her, what fantasies he had. How her skin felt to his touch and how her body was silhouetted against the sunlight under her skirt and blouse. The Count wrenched it from his captive's mind by force, effortlessly. The prisoner's attempts at resistance were no more to him than a fly's struggle in a spider's web.

Arthur considered himself fortunate that it hadn't been the memory of his first night with Guinivere, the night in which Thomas had been conceived. And yet, when Llanfair finally withdrew the Prince was trembling.

He had never felt that cheap before. Born into a very public life, used to be stared at, watched and judged by all who saw him every hour of the day, the ability to keep his thoughts and emotions hidden was essential for him, like breathing or sleeping. His inner life was sacrosanct; no one had ever had full access. Not his father, not his closest friends, not even Gwen.

Now this place had been ransacked; defiled by the other's presence. The mortal shame manifested itself as a physical discomfort; nausea and pains in Arthur's stomach where all muscles cramped.

There was only one way a knight and warrior could react to this brutal violation. In the first shock of utter humiliation not even the thought of his father's safety could stop the Pendragon Prince.

Anwar didn't move when Arthur came for him, screaming with rage. The Prince's hands closed around his tormentor's throat and for a while the old Count gave the impression that he was defenceless against the physical attack.

Naturally it didn't last long.

After what had lasted hardly two minutes, Llanfair meticulously straightened his clothes whilst looking down on the young man who had been brought to his knees in front of him. "_Frustrating, isn't it. Such strong muscles. Such knowledge of the martial arts. You could break my neck single handed. If only your hand would obey you_."

Anwar watched slyly as he loosened his control a bit and he wasn't disappointed.

It wasn't a conscious thought or intention, more like a reflex to get as far away from the monster as possible that made Pendragon rush for the door, as if salvation was waiting outside this room.

He didn't go very far before the cold, commanding voice in his head was back to stop him. _"Stay where you are!_"

Sure enough, the Prince's legs refused to cooperate and he halted.

"_What a fascinating life you've led. And mine was so very boring, in comparison. It took me years to master the dark arts. They're quite different from the magic your little sorcerer friend showed you, I reckon_."

Arthur closed his eyes briefly when he heard the other man approach from behind. Anwar's hands took both shoulders in what could have been a friendly semi-hug. "_Would you mind showing me some more?_"

"_No_" Arthur thought furiously. "_No. Not again_."

"_We could change the subject, you know. No girls and such like. what about…. Camelot's defences. Or Uther's secret connections with other King's subjects? His covert bussiness operations? The identities of his spies at my Court?"_

To Arthur it felt like a snake gliding through his thoughts, ready to bite and spread its venom when Llanfair's mental voice chuckled menacingly "_As long as you've seen or heard anything of these things, no matter how long ago – even if you've forgotten all about it, it's still somewhere in your head, ready for the taking_."

"_I won't let you take it. I'll never betray Camelot._!"

"_I thought you'd got it by now. There's nothing you can do. You can't fight, can't run, you cannot even scream. And you most definitely can't hide anything from me_."

Anwar bent his head until his lips almost touched the younger man's neck. "_And the best is yet to come, Arthur. I promise you, in the end you'll __do anything I say, anything at all, without me even using my powers. You'll kneel to me, lick my boots, kiss my butt or come to my bed – anything, as long as it keeps me away from your mind_."

"_You're welcome to try_!"

"_There's no need for **trying,** little dragon. In fact I'll show you right now what I can do! There was something about my man Lucius in your memory. He helped you, didn't he. And you've seen his face before ….."_

It took Llanfair less than thirty minutes to prove his point and by the time he'd got everything he wanted, Arthur was begging to be left alone.

But Anwar wasn't finished with him yet. The old Count had a great talent for sniffing out the most sensitive spots and he played it out to the full.

It took some more hours before he finally lost interest.

And that was only the first of eights days…

At this point of his narrative, Arthur's voice trailed off.

At first, antek didn't react to that. He had been listening with increasing dread to what Arthur had told him. At first he had wanted to laugh it all away. His father, a sorcerer? A mindreader even? Ridiculous.

However, as the story proceeded it made sense in a weird way.

A cruel game like this was so much more after his father's taste than any crude physical torture. Besides, he knew Arthur. And nobody, especially not a man like the Crown Prince of Camelot, would make up such an outrageus story.

So, as Arthur didn't go on, Antek said the very first thing that came to him. "My father murdered Lucius before your and Merco's eyes based on some information he'd forcibly wrenched from your mind?"

Deeply lost in his emotional recall, Arthur was slightly startled by the sound of Antek's voice. "Yes" he finally acknowledged. "Lucius saved my life many times, he risked his neck to help me as best he could and I betrayed him to your father."

"Sounds to me as if you had no choice!" Antek replied heatedly. It was so very much like Arthur to blame himself where a bit old fashioned and well seasoned hatred would've been a much healthier attitude.

But then, that was the crux of it, wasn't it.

The Prince hadn't told Antek many details about the memories that had been stolen from him, but the young Count could easily deduce that Anwar had made a close study of Arthur's character before planning his amusements.

The old Llanfair wolf would never have taken a bite off a spot that didn't hurt. As Arthur's conscience was easy to prick, it had been the choice piece of meat.

From this insight it was only a short way to some other realizations.

"Did you do it in the end?" Antek asked. "Obey him without being forced?"

Another shudder ran down Arthur's spine. This was the most hurtful point of all. The one sin he knew he'd never receive absolution for; not from his father, not from his wife or friends and most certainly not from himself.

The knowledge of what he'd been capable of doing was always with him and when he looked at his son Thomas, the thought of his little boy feeling degraded for being a disgraced coward's son had been foremost on his mind.

And yet once, just once in his life he had to tell someone the whole truth before it strangled him. "Yes. I did. And to make a long story short, he went all the way and so did I!"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that on the last evening I spent in his chambers he told me to strip and lay down for him in his bed. I obeyed him because I couldn't endure him watching my thoughts and feelings during the act."

Arthur had sputtered that out so that he couldn't think twice about it, but he regretted it instantaneously. More than anything else during all these months he'd spent as Anwar's prisoner this moment had destroyed his soul and now he had given this knowledge into another's hands. What would, what _could_ a nobleman do but utterly condemn him for what he had done?

The ground reeled under Arthur's feet and he was sick to the bone.

"I'm glad to hear it" Antek said, audibly sighing with relief. "Clever you. I'd done exactly the same!"

The ground became rock solid, the world stopped spinning, the stomach left the throat and fell back into the pit where it belonged. "Excuse me?"

"I said, how very clever of you" Antek repeated good-naturedly. "I mean, we both knew my father; at least I assume after eight days of that nice little game you must've known him by heart."

Much calmed and comforted by this happy ending of a gruesome tale, Antek flashed a smile at his friend. "My father wasn't gay. He just wanted to know how far he could go and once he was sure he had you where he wanted you, he'd leave you in peace. You should've thought of that earlier, but – better late than never, as I always say!"

"Antek, that wasn't what I….."

"Oh for God's sake, Arthur Pendragon, there simply was no other way to bide your time until help could come to you. So for once you couldn't free yourself with your sword and mace, for once you had to wait for other people to come up with something. What the heck? You survived, against impossible odds, why can't you just accept that that is a heroic feat in itself? Not many men would've lived to tell the tale."

Antek of Llanfair didn't know it but he was a unique person. He was the only man who'd ever been stared at by Arthur Pendragon with the princely lower jaw hanging almost to the ground in splendid stupefaction.

Unruffled by the singular event, Antek shrugged. "I'm right, am I not? He didn't touch you after you'd come to his bed willingly?"

"No" Arthur finally managed to say. "He just laughed and said he'd let me go in the morning. Then he left."

"As I said" Antek replied. "Clever you. Did you tell Uther?"

"I've told no one until now and surely not my father." Arthur was by far too confused to weigh his words. The knight in him, the man his father had moulded him into, told him, and punitively so, that nothing had changed. That he still carried the burden of his disgrace and that he would've to do so until the day he died.

But another part of him, the part that wanted to live, love and to be happy, felt hilarious. It felt that the burden had been lifted from his soul for good. Even that he had imagined this burden in the first place.

"Good!" Antek interrupted Arthur's extremely complicated deliberations. "My father was mad, and yours' an idiot. We're both to be pitied. Now, let's make plans how to get out of here."

Only now the young Count remembered what had triggered Arthur's confession and suddenly he didn't feel so very confident anymore. "I guess, after what you've been through you wouldn't mistake my father's presence for any other sorcerer's tricks?" he asked uncomfortably.

It took a bit of air out of the only recently blown up – and thus very thin skinned – balloon that was Arthur's confidence. "Surely not. It may be Alined's body but it's your father we're dealing with."

"And he can still control you? I mean, the way he could when you were in Blackrock?"

Pendragon combed his hair with both hands in frustration. "He can't control my mind like he once could but as to my body, that's another pair of shoes. He snaps his fingers and I can't do anything."

"But what does he _want_? It's sure not me and presently he doesn't seem very interested in you either."

The thought came to Arthur out of nowhere and yet it made perfect, if perverted, sense. "_The power of life and death itself_" Anwar/Alined had said. And from the very beginning the monster's resurrection had been closely intertwined with a certain young warlock…

"Merlin" Arthur said. "Anwar wants Merlin and thanks to my stupidity, he's got him."

Antek watched the crestfallen royal sitting down, head hanging low. "_Back where you were, aren't you? Arthur Pendragon's conscience must be some cosy little hell to live in"_ the Count thought and shook his head in disbelief. "_It is __**my**__ fault that we're here. I wanted to be clever. Selling Merlin to the highest bidder, __betraying Uther to Cendred. I considered Blackrock, my people and most of all I considered myself. Never once I thought of you until it was too late. And look who's sitting on his arse blaming himself. It sure isn't me_."

As sure as eggs were eggs, Arthur would never learn to put himself first in anything.

Which of course meant that Antek would have to do it for him.

The young Count was confident that some escape plan would come to him sooner or later. Perhaps it wouldn't be a nice plan, or even a decent, let alone an honourable one. But that was perfectly fine with Antek, as long as it worked.

When all was said and done, he _was_ still a Llanfair.

And as such he shuffled his bottom to and fro until he found a more comfortable sitting position, leaned his back against the wall and waited for his princely friend to come out of his self-inflicted and, as always, utterly unproductive misery.


	23. No one has greater love

**23. No one has greater love**

"_Meaning that on the last evening I spent in his chambers he told me to strip and lay down for him in his bed. I obeyed him because I couldn't endure him watching my thoughts and feelings during the act_."

The few words let Merlin jerk back as if he'd been bitten by a snake.

Like a puppet he let Anwar/Alined drag him back and close the shutter of the small spy window quickly but stealthily before he roughly pushed the magician out on the corridor.

Merlin didn't brood on the necessity of such secretiveness on his captor's side. He was almost grateful for it. The warlock didn't want – in fact he didn't dare – to listen further. What he had heard was more than enough to throw him out of his balance. The mere thought of his royal friend being humiliated like that made him furious, the risk of a repetition at the monster's hand terrified him and all the while his captured magic was reeling inside him, desperate to get out and destroy this heinous scoundrel, this unnatural abomination that had such misused and twisted the power of sorcery.

The existence of an evil like Anwar of Llanfair and the Book of Demons was an insult to everything Merlin believed in, as a magician, as a Dragonlord and as a man.

And yet, for all his fury and hot passion, here he was. His back leaning against the rough surface of a wall, his legs wobbly, his hands twisting uselessly and his face smeared with tears. Truth be told, the most powerful magician of all times felt just about as powerful as a baby rabbit in a foxhole.

"A penny for your thoughts, dear warlock" Anwar smiled; his sarcasm peculiarly befitting Alined's features. "Or no, let me guess: 'Anything', you said before. You'd do anything to see Arthur freed from the Di'inshara. Although he seems to prefer my son's company over yours."

"Shut up" Merlin yelled. "What do you know about it?"

The old Count clicked his tongue. "Touchy, aren't we? Perhaps I've hit a sore spot?"

The warlock blushed with shame, because it was so very true. On top of everything else, he _was_ jealous. Pitiably, degradingly, childishly jealous and sorry for himself that Arthur, Merlin's best and closest friend, should have chosen to make this confession to Antek of Llanfair and not to him.

There was a slight in that, and it stung. It stung so terribly that it matched his pity and concern for Arthur's plight and somehow that made things even worse. Linked with the degrading inability to _do_ something about it, the feeling was enough to drive the warlock mad.

In other words, Anwar had him exactly where he wanted him - Merlin was at the end of his wits. His reply was therefore passionate but not very impressive, not even to his own ears. "Leave Arthur alone or I'll…." he said and he himself had no clue as to what he was going to threaten the monster with; the creature who was presently holding all the cards.

"You'll _what_, dear warlock?" Anwar continued mercilessly. "If I went down to your friend, right now, for a bit of fun, would you burst into tears – _again_, as I may add? Beg me, on your knees? Or would you crush me with your thoughts alone?" He shook his head in mocked wonder. "Tell me, Merlin, Emrys, greatest warlock of all times, what are you going to do to save your friend from my evil clutches? Shatter me, let my blood run cold with panic, make me tremble with fear and dread."

"I've already said I'd do anything. What is it you want?"

"Want? What would _I_ want from _you_?"

Merlin winced. He guessed where this was going and yet he was a blindfolded mouse in a labyrinth, no chance of avoiding the trap. "You…. you said you might let him go. For my support."

"Did I say that? When did I say that?"

"Some hours ago, in the torture chamber."

"You shouldn't put too much into that, I love to chatter away, it's my one weakness. I've caught myself a prize catch, a Prince for a slave. You fought me with all your might and here I am, right as rain, with a King's body and a King's power at my disposal, _and_ your royal friend at my mercy. Why should I give him up?"

"For a price you said, you'd dissolve the Di'inshara!"

Tensed and at the same time thrilled, Anwar scrutinized his counterpart. It was unbelievably easy to bait this young man, this innocent boy, and yet the power of his inborn magic made the Rashnijaan's demonic spirit hum and twist in nervous anticipation. There was no denying that the Book was scared, scared of a power with which it could not hope to compete in fair and open battle.

Just as well that this battle would not be fair at all. "Oh, that" the old Count said casually. "You _could_ take Arthur's place, you know."

Merlin's first reaction was, oddly enough, a kind of professional interest. "Is that possible?" Only then his mind began pondering the implications and he felt even sicker. But in spite of that, one thought was preeminent: "_Better me than Arthur_. _I'm a warlock. There must be something I can do. Once Arthur is free, I can….._"

"Oh, easily" Anwar interrupted his thoughts. "We'd undergo the same ritual as Arthur and I did. If I use the same consecrated blade I used with His Royal Highness, the bond that ties him to me will be broken. Irreversibly."

A faint memory grazed Merlin's mind. Something about a knife that was already under way. Yet, being terrified, worn out and upset, he couldn't get hold of the thought. "This won't work" he replied instead, desperate that this was leading nowhere. "I cannot withstand the Rashnijaan's magic, you said so yourself."

"You wouldn't have to. You'd be bound to _me_, not to the Book of Demons. But it must be voluntarily. A life for a life, a soul for a soul, bla, bla, bla. I'm sure as a fellow magician you know the basics of our trade." Anwar smiled; the genuinely kind, amiable face could've fooled anyone who didn't know who he was. _What_ he was. A ghoul, a vicious fiend. "Would you do that for Arthur? Or is it too much demanded? Speak freely, he can't hear us."

It was poison masked with honey and it hit the mark, spot on. Merlin saw a light at the end of the tunnel and the mouse ran towards that light, be it cast by a lantern or by hellfire. "When?"

Anwar almost sighed with relief. He'd feared, once Merlin knew what the price was going to be, his 'anything' would be much qualified. Apparently there was no bound to his loyalty. Stupid boy. "There're preparations to make. Tomorrow, at sunset. You have my word. But for now…."

Merlin never saw the fist coming that hit his chin and knocked him out flat.

"Sorry little one, I can't allow you to brood on things at leisure and have all kinds of second thoughts" Anwar muttered under his breath. Then he called for Alined's guards who were all too eager to do their 'King's' bidding. They brought the unconscious warlock to another cell where a strong sleeping draught made sure that he wouldn't come to anytime soon.

The ghoul watched them tromping out and sighed. One caught; one to go. As he had conveniently 'forgotten' to tell Merlin, he needed the consent of all parts of the Di'inshara bond to shift it from one to the other. And he had the distinct feeling that he'd be hard put to convince Arthur of sacrificing his best friend to save himself. No, our noble Prince would need some other means of persuasion. Luckily those means were approaching the Manor House this very moment, on their own legs and quite willingly.

"No rest for the wicked" Anwar told himself when he made his way to the Prince's prison but he chuckled as he said it. This was going to be wicked indeed, but it would be so much fun.

Gods, it was great to be alive.

An hour or two later Morgyan's 'rescue team' finally made it to Markentower, protected – or so the four gallant if somewhat unorthodox fighters for Arthur's and Antek's life and freedom thought – by the falling dusk.

They left their horses in the shadow of the forest and cautiously sneaked further towards the building on foot until they reached the wall.

Only now the Cymbrian Princess was willing to admit that a plan was needed that was still to be made. "Gaius, you know the place best. How can we get in without being seen?"

No answer.

"Umh, Gaius? Hello? I'm talking to you, man."

Nothing. Just silent staring at the dark wall in front of them. The old healer as well as the young Druid chief could've been stone statues fallen from their pedestals.

"What _is_ the matter with you two?" The Princess' angry hiss let Gwen snap out of her own thoughts. After she'd recovered the knife from the burial site her high spirits had been crushed by terrible visions. She'd seen Arthur in horrible torment, Merlin being tied to a stake and burned alive, Camelot being destroyed and all her people lying dead, horribly mutilated. It had all added to her sense of urgency, to the knowledge that they had no time to waste or their loved ones would suffer for it.

"What's the matter" Guinivere now asked, alarmed.

"That" Morgyan growled furiously "is the one thing I would want to know. The two oafs are sleeping with their eyes open!"

And no matter what they tried, if they pinched the men, or kicked or hit or even tickled them – Gaius and Marwon could not be roused. They might have been dead.

Or so they looked. Inwardly, Gaius was seething with rage and frustration. Too late he had realized that the idea to reinforce the rescue team with two sorcerers had backfired the moment the shadow of Markentower had fallen on him and the Druid. Their bodies went limp and their voice was paralyzed, effectively making them prisoners of their own flesh and bones. Gaius' mind went frantically through every book, through every experience and every piece of learning on magic he'd ever got but nothing sufficed. Especially as he had, cursed be it, not Merlin's gift of using spells with his thoughts alone. Neither had, quite obviously, Marwon.

"Help me, Gwen. We can't leave them here. Go on, move your ass My Lady, we must bring them back to the forest before we can go in."

"_Yes_" Gaius thought, overjoyed. "_A few paces further away and the spell will be broken_."

"No" Guinivere said hoarsely. "There's no need!"

"What the…" Morgyan began but Gwen's finger pointing at something behind her made her shut her mouth and turn round. The Cymbrian's eyes widened, stupefied by the sight of Arthur Pendragon walking out of the Manor House's main gate as if he had not a care in the world.

A minute later an almost fainting Gwen held her husband in her arms and she laughed and cried at the same time with pure relief and happiness. Arthur and his wife stammered across each other, some frantic, idiotic things about the other being well, unharmed as well as miracles, disbelief and never-let me/you-go and then they began all over again.

Until Morgyan lost her temper. "Damn it, Arthur! What has happened? And where's Antek?"

"Still inside the house, with Sir Oswald and the rest of the Camelot knights who rescued us from Alined's men two days ago." He frowned suddenly, as if a thought had come to him only now. "But how come _you_ are here, Morgyan? Does your brother know where you are?"

"I'm Cendred's sister, not his pet dog" Morgyan retorted angrily. "I can go where I please. And right now it pleased me – and your wife – to save your royal butt and the Count of Llanfair from a fate worse than death."

Arthur grinned merrily. "That's awfully kind of you dear cousin but you're too late. Camelot's knights found and freed us. Merlin was injured though, that's why we aren't on our way home yet."

Gwen winced. "Is it bad?"

"No, not bad. But we couldn't risk it, the journey might've done him further harm, so we decided to wait a few days before we're going back to Camelot. I was just about sending a messenger to the Druids to let you and my father know where we'd got to…." Arthur interrupted himself and he looked at Morgyan questioningly "come to think of it, how could you know about our abduction?"

"To make a long and twisted story short and plain" Morgyan said impatiently "your father is my brother's prisoner. As was your wife before I took her on this quest to this godforsaken place."

"My father is _what_?"

"Cendred had the marvellous idea that I and you are gettin' married, for my young bastard nephew's sake."

"I do beg your pardon?"

"As you weren't available, for more than one reason alone, some of them being named Guinivere and Thomas, Cendred found it seemly to marry me off to your father. You, should you miraculously escape the enchanted lands and be restored to the world of humble mortals, are to be my stepson if Cendred has his way."

Arthur just gawked at her, speechless. He looked terrified.

"Don't look _that_ afraid, Arthur, it's not very flattering. Some people do consider me beautiful" Morgyan snapped.

"That much is true, darling" Gwen rubbed salt into Arthur's wounds. "She is very handsome. And a Princess Royal. Exactly what Uther had in mind for you. Not all eyes would weep for you. I wonder if I would."

Her husband's eyes narrowed in his typical 'we'll-talk-about–that–later-and-then-in-full-detail' manner.

"Anyway" the Princess said hastily "consider it one of Cendred's idiotic jokes, Arthur. Now that your knights are here, we can just send word to my brother, he'll release Uther and we will say no more of it. Once I'm married to Antek, I…."

"You _what_?"

"Stop repeating what, what, what, Pendragon; you're not a bloody parrot! Where's Antek? Oh do shut up, I'll find him myself."

Arthur watched her trampling towards the gate and vanishing behind it before he turned back to his wife. "I'll expect you can explain this to me. But first of all: Where is our son, woman?"

"Thomas is safe; he's with Agneta, Marwon's wife. Oh Gods, Marwon…." And only now Gwen knelt and shook the two unconscious magicians, thereby alerting Arthur to their presence for the first time. "What's ailing them?" he asked, shaking his head, clearly thinking that this was a day of signs and wonders.

"I don't know, we came closer to Markentower and they …. fainted, just like that."

The Prince closed his eyes, slapped his forehead and sighed with relief. "Oh, that. It's the walls you see. Some protective spell, it only works on magicians. Same thing happened to Merlin when we first came here. I made the mistake to move him and that caused his injury. You just let them rest here for an hour or two and they'll be right as rain."

"You're sure?" Gwen wasn't very convinced.

"Absolutely. Come inside and greet our knights, they'll want to know about my father firsthand. I'll have blankets and cushions send out to Gaius and Marwon and they can sleep it off."

Still not completely persuaded Gwen let her husband drag her towards the entrance, her eyes searching the still figures in the grass. It wasn't like Arthur to leave them like this. It was cold, and the grass was damp and what about wild animals? But if he'd send out men to them – what else could he do?"

As long as she was in sight Gaius looked at her and Arthur, silently screaming at them both, a senseless warning.

Moving them away from the walls was the only way to break the spell; that was a fact. By no means Merlin could have been hurt the way Arthur had described it.

Why the hell had Camelot's Crown Prince lied to his wife, lied through his teeth?

Something was wrong here, Gaius knew. He also remembered the creeping impression he'd had in Blackrock's burial vault. That the corpse had been alive. It was completely impossible that the two things were connected, and yet… and yet….. "_Merlin, where are you? Can't you hear me_?" With all his strength Gaius tried to reach out to his ward, hoping that Merlin's singular talent would make up for his guardian's lack of telepathical powers.

It was a pity that Gwen lost sight of the old healer before his still body suddenly jerked as if kicked in the guts. So far his and Marwon's eyes had been open, but now they rolled upwards and closed.

Slowly but constantly, blood trickled from their nostrils.

As the day went by, nobody came out of Markentower.


	24. Woof

**2****4. Woof**

Marwon fought the waters that drowned him. Although the ground beneath his feet was slippery and he couldn't get a hold, he kept kicking and struggling for all he was worth. Yes, all his life he'd been told what a weakling he was, what a disappointment for his great father. Not just because he wasn't the warlock born of legends, but because he was so good a warrior, a mortifying shame to the whole Druid nation.

Unnecessary to say that the scheme that had brought Lord Antek to their hands had been conjured up by him.

And yet he _was_ a Druid, son of a High Priestess and the great Arenboarth, Lord Druid of the Blessed Isle, and this unnatural, disgusting, sorry excuse for magic would _not_ defeat him.

With even stronger resolve he fought against the suffocating, wet darkness around him and the pressure of the invisible arms that fought to keep him down, to keep him drowning. For once his muscles weren't the issue. But his magic was.

He couldn't see, couldn't hear anything but the deafening thunder of wild waters, he couldn't breathe and yet he struggled on and on, clinging to life by stubborn obstinacy alone.

Step by step he fought his way up, to the surface and centimetre by centimetre, he succeeded. Too slow, much too slow to save his life.

Until, all of a sudden, the pressure was gone and he shot upwards, his head broke through the surface and his lungs filled with air; a precious, clean, exhilarating gush of air. He heard his own voice, a triumphant roar of sheer joy and opened his eyes to – nothing.

Darkness.

Silence. No sound but his own ragged panting and the fast beat of his heart.

The first thing he noticed about reality, besides it being unnoticeable, was dryness. There was no water; there had been no water, and no monster that drowned him.

"_Shit_" Marwon thought passionately when memory kicked back in. "_The Book of Demon's most basic, most simple trick and look who's the only one who got through? Not Emrys, who got himself caught by the Rashnijaan's followers, not Gaius, the former Master Pupil of the Healers' Temple who ran head first into the barrier like a child. No. It's me. Poor, stupid, almost magic-blind me. And know what? I'm absolutely clueless as to what I am to do next_!"

Marwon rubbed his face with both hands. Apparently Princes, Camelot or Druid, had a lot in common, for all their people being so very different. Frustration was most definitely among those shared experiences. _That _would be what Arthur felt when all his considerable talents were once again useless. The Prince was brave, intelligent, strong, dedicated; a hell of a fighter and what good did it ever do? Zero, none, nihil. Because some misguided, good-for-nothing half-wit had once again dug up some idiotic spell which by right should never've been written down in the first place and that was that. Sit tight, Your Highness, the great Emrys will be around presently.

Only, on this occasion, Emrys would surely not show up any time soon. That much Marwon could tell from recent events, especially from the exemplary nonsense Arthur had told earlier. If it had been _Arthur_ at all.

So it was Marwon to the rescue. Well, then. Although there was nothing well about anything.

As he had to do _something_, the young Druid climbed to his feet. Which wasn't easy as his legs were still asleep and reluctant to give up the desirable state. For an interlude, he dusted off his pants and shirt with his hands. He'd seen Arthur do that on occasions, when he'd seemed at a loss at what to do next, and it seemed to help.

Most of all, he'd to show resolve and confidence.

Resolved and confident, Marwon walked but one step and crashed to the ground, face-first. Oh. Yes. That _was_ the spot where Gaius lay, still out as a light. Which was, by the way, a very apt circumscription for a motionless body in a moonless night for which even the birds and bees had made a vow of silence.

"Gaius" the Druid said in a strained whisper "Gaius? Can you hear me?"

No response.

"Gaius! Damn it, wake up. I'm all alone."

Nothing.

Marwon sighed heavily. Not that again. Not so very soon. Gosh, he hated using his inborn magic. It was small, it was weak and as if that wasn't enough to disgrace a Druid from a very noble and distinguished family, it was also…. prankish. And a bit cheeky. It worked the most embarrassing miracles at times, if it worked at all.

However, he could neither leave the old healer to his fate – fate had a tendency to be cruel where the Rashnijaan was involved – nor could he fight the Book of Demons on his own. Not if the Pendragons' lives were at stake. No good had ever come to the Druids from suffering in Camelot.

Marwon knelt by Gaius' side and closed his eyes. He concentrated. Concentrated really, _really_ hard. Behind his lids there was a golden flash and he opened his eyes for an expectant look at the old man before him.

Alas, his magic had indeed reached an all time low. In front of Marwon sat a sad looking toad, sleepily opening and closing his eyes with a subtle yet somewhat disheartening 'quaock'.

Maybe….. Gaius wouldn't remember this episode later on.

The Druid gave it another try, quite hastily.

The toad vanished – thank heaven for that – but it was quickly replaced by a little dog with three legs. A very ugly dog with a distinctively evil, vengeful shimmer in his eyes.

Oh-oh.

Another spell was muttered in an instant and, to his profound relief, Marwon found himself face-to-face with a very alert, very himself-like Court Physician.

"Gaius, oh, Gaius, it's so good to see you in your own person" Marwon exclaimed warmly.

The old healer glared at his saviour, threateningly.

"What is it?" Marwon asked "c'me on, you can't be that angry, besides, we mustn't lose a minute, we must save the others!"

The old man glared even more dangerously.

"Gaius?" the Druid said cautiously.

"Woof" the healer answered, with a face long as a fiddle. "Woof. Woof-woof-woof. WOOF!"

"Does that mean you've got a headache?"

The question wasn't of immediate consequence. As soon as Gaius' aggravated fist hit Marwon's cheek, they both had a headache.

**A/****N: Many, many thanks to anyone who answered my Author's S.O.S. Your feedback was much – and I mean MUCH! – appreciated.**

**But no, I will not (yet) tell you what I finally decided about how – and when – this story will end. You'll find out soon enough.**

**I know, ****this one is an usually short chapter, coming from me, but I loved the last line so very much, I thought it would make a good break.**

**As always, reviews are also appreciated. Please, take the time. As a belated Christmas present**** perhaps?**


	25. Le Mort de Roi

**2****5. La Mort de Roi**

Arthur jerked as Llanfair touched his neck and the ball of crystal glass in his hands almost fell to the ground. "Ooohps. Careful, little dragon. The thing is valuable. Almost as valuable as you."

Most carefully the ghoul placed the fragile item on the table before he turned back to the Prince. "Have you made up your mind? About tonight?"

He toyed with a knife before Arthur's eyes and with a start the Prince recognized the blade that had once been at the beginning of his bondage, the knife that had brought him the Di'inshara. Reflexively his gaze followed the blade when Llanfair sheathed it at his belt. "The knife was in the lady's bag, safe and sound. We're ready when you are."

As Arthur still didn't answer, Llanfair sighed impatiently. "Come on little dragon, you know I'll keep my word. I promised to release these two fools Gaius and Marwon and so I did. The crystal showed it to you. You could go with them. You, your nice little wife, Cendred's harpy of a sister – you know what, I'll throw my dear son into the bargain."

Llanfair's hands – technically still Alined's hands – closed on Arthur's shoulders, the thumbs pressing uncomfortably on the collarbones. "It's not as if you had much of a choice, my boy."

With a violent push Arthur freed himself and rose to his feet. "I won't sacrifice my servant. That's final."

"Your Guinivere surely looks as if she's been through a lot lately. You better think twice before refusing me. The dungeons are not a suitable place for a lady of fragile health."

Frankly Arthur had no idea what to say or do, he knew he was losing this game as he had lost all the other games against Llanfair before, ever since he'd agreed to the Di'inshara ritual. Pleading wouldn't help, and giving in was out of the question. "You've got me, that can't be helped. But that's enough. I'll not deliver Merlin to you on a silver platter."

"Unlike your wife? It'll take some explaining from you, why you lured her into a trap. She'll hardly understand. And there's your father to consider. I've heard old Uther is in grave trouble? Tz-tz, what _has_ the world come to in my absence." Llanfair frowned briefly "But I think I'll gonna miss you. Hold still!"

The last bit had been an order, as Arthur had shied away from the hand that approached his head. Once more he'd just forgotten that his body was no longer his. "You know" Llanfair muttered absent-mindedly as he caressed Arthur's cheek "its funny. With Alined's body, I mean. I was just about to say that I would prefer fondling your woman. But now I feel much less inclined to it. Naturally I could always hand her over to 'my' men. She'd like that, wouldn't she."

Suddenly tired of the play, Llanfair's hand fell back to his side and he shrugged. "Tonight, at sunset. Your sorcerer or your wife – shouldn't be such a hard choice to make." In the door he turned back to his prisoner once more. "And please, do not insult me by any escape attempts. You know how far you'd come and you know what it would cost the others. See you."

However, this time he'd underestimated the courage of utter despair. While he had his back on Arthur, the Prince leaped forward, had the knife from Llanfair's belt and brought it down with a vengeance.

Surprise quenched any pain as Anwar watched the blood – Alined's blood – gush from the big slash in his throat, staining the wall, the floor, his clothes as well as the young man behind him who hung on for dear life, using his hands, feet, even his teeth to hold his enemy down. More astonished than shocked his mind reached out to submit the other's body to his will but he found he couldn't. Arthur wouldn't let go, instead he pressed his hand on Anwar's mouth to silence him. "Die, you monster, damn you, peg out."

Only now Llanfair began to panic. The blood ran out of him like water from a hole and he couldn't breathe. Too far gone to achieve anything now. He screamed in his mind, shouted any abuse he could think of. This couldn't be, it wasn't possible.

If he was to give up this new life, there might be no return. The Book would finally claim him, claim him forever. The price. There was a price to pay for the Demons' power. But he'd been so very careful. Careful that there was always somebody else to pay the real price.

Cursed be the second he'd forgotten that he could control Arthur's body but no longer read his mind. By the eternal laws of the Rashnijaan the Di'inshara bondage was broken once the slave, despite all the invisible chains that bound his mind and body, could drain his master's heart-blood by using the same blade that had once enslaved him. The Prince couldn't possible know that, but now, driven over the edge by his foolishly negligent captor, he was about to find out.

But not all hope was lost yet for Anwar of Llanfair. A body. Another body in which he could recover. Regain his strength. Unsuspected, safe. For a very last time he mobilised all his powers and reached out to the man the Di'inshara had bound to him.

Inside Arthur's soul was another strong bond, a bond of blood and love. It went deeper than any other bond, deeper even than the bond that tied him to his friend or wife. Anwar reached out for that bond, for the shimmering path to safety it provided and he flew, flew, higher and higher upwards, to safety, to the light…. But it was so far, so very far away and he was so tired.

Tired.

Tired…..

Arthur held the struggling body down to the floor; the blood covered them both, saliva ran over his hands and still it wasn't over, the monster wouldn't die, it just wouldn't die. In Pendragon's mind the ungodly power dragged and pushed until he wanted to scream under the excruciating sensation. Despairingly he bit into his own arm to stifle the cry that would give him away to the guards outside.

The familiar numbness ran through his veins and muscles, trying to paralyze him, trying to get a hold over him, fighting him. His hands went limp for a moment and with a terrified yelp he pressed down harder, fearing any moment to lose this fight and with it, everything. "_Your wife or your friend_." An impossible choice was no choice at all and he wouldn't live to make it.

Slowly, too slowly, the movement beneath him ceased, the mental pressure on his body vanished, bit by bit. Arthur panted, his vision blurred and suddenly he heaved up, all over the still struggling body. Never see you again, never touch you again, never _be_ touched by your hands again, never, no matter what the costs, never…

All at once Llanfair bolted upwards, his back arched in an impossible angle, his eyes widened and even though Arthur fought him with all his strength an agonized, gurgling scream wrested itself from the ghoul's distorted mouth.

In utter confusion and distraught Arthur grabbed the other's head and banged it to the stone floor. Again. And again. And again. Eventually the skull broke, grey matter came from it, but the desperate young man didn't notice.

Then the body lost its rigour and fell back to the ground.

Silent.

Unmoving.

It took a while before Arthur allowed himself to believe that his nemesis was dead.

Actually he didn't get up but knelt by the corpse's side until fast, heavy steps approached the door from the outside. The guards had finally gathered that something was amiss.

Without thinking Arthur unsheathed Alined's blade and took up the knife from the tiles with his other hand. Roaring and screaming he darted through the door, still unlocked to allow the captor an easy exit.

The first of the two soldiers outside never knew what hit him; he was dead before his body reached the ground. The second man backed off, terrified out of his wits by what he saw.

The Prince had no idea of how he looked in that instant. His clothes torn to pieces, his face a contorted mask of berserk rage, head and body covered in blood, vomit and brain matter, with a bloodied knife in one hand and the sword that had just cut off the soldier's head in the other he was a formidable sight, but an agonizing one.

While the head of his dead comrade was still rolling over the floor the other soldier lost his nerve. He'd seen too much dreadful magic in the manor's torture chamber already and this appearance, this spectre from hell, finished him off. Sobbing and squealing he ran and ran, even when Arthur had long since given up the chase. "The demons, the demons, oh Great Mother, have mercy on our souls…."

The effect of his constant whining was spectacular. None of Alined's men had been comfortable with recent events, especially not with Trickler's gruesome death and now the one, blithering idiot was their undoing.

While they ran, headless, mindless, for their swords, their horses and back again for something else, Arthur made his way to the dungeons unhindered and unmolested. Driven by some mysterious instincts he found his way around the cellars' rubbish and to the right door. Two wretched guards spotted him jumped out of the nearest window, broke their ankles and for the rest of their lives considered themselves most fortunate.

Guinivere screamed when the bloodied, tattered monster entered their cell and even Morgyan, as proud of her reckless bravery as any of her brother's brutish knights, pressed her back against the wall in horror. "Antek, stay back" she shouted, feeling faint at the sight of her beloved virtually jumping on the barbaric newcomer.

However, young Count Llanfair did no such thing. "Arthur" he screamed hilariously "by God, you've made my old man a head shorter!"

Pendragon had neither eyes nor ears for him. The weapons fell from his hands; he barely reacted to Guinivere's enthusiastic embrace, now that she'd finally recognised the man in the beast. "Where is he" Arthur whispered. "Where the hell is he?"

It was his last words before his body lost all strength and darkness claimed him.


	26. A paradise of minor problems

**2****6. A paradise of minor problems**

"Time to wake up, prat" a familiar voice stated ruthlessly. "You've overslept a little."

Arthur's brain was still a bit sluggish, instinctively waiting for a no longer existent oppressor to step in. However, when it belatedly processed this special stimulus his body darted upwards at lightening speed.

"_Bad idea_" was the very adequate thought his brain produced next, duly bringing the distinct "knock" sound of bones connecting, the half surprised, half agonized groan, the subsequent "thumb" of a skinny backside on the stony floor and an aching princely head into a sensible context.

"You insensitive ….. oaf of a royal dollop-head" Merlin gasped as articulate as his jaw would let him after it had been almost dislocated by the hard Pendragon skull. "Any particular reason to knock me out or just one of your whims?"

"Merlin!" Arthur cried – and then he was at a complete loss. Sheepishly, as he thought he couldn't possibly let it at that, he added "it's you!"

"No" retorted the aggravated warlock, "it's my hollow spectre, wandering the realms of mortals to find a certain dim-wit Pendragon Prince. And look what good it did me!" Accusingly he pointed at the swelling bruise on his chin.

"You'll live, Merlin" Guinivere came to her husband's rescue "Arthur, can you walk? We should get out of here as long as we have the chance."

Instead of an answer the Prince just stared at her for a second, then he grabbed her and gave her a suffocating bear hug. "I'm so sorry" he said desperately and, unconnectedly, "I love you! You and Little Thomas. Did I ever tell you that?" He clung to her until her ribs screeched, holding her as if he'd never let her go and for Guinivere there could be no sweeter place than in this strangling pair of arms.

"Once or twice" she answered gently. "But we can bear hearing it more often."

Arthur nodded solemnly when he released her, as if he'd heard the most substantial news of all. A very important fact that had at long last been settled to mutual satisfaction!

Immediately afterwards an enraptured Merlin watched the fascinating change his best friend underwent in the split second he needed to pick up the sword and knife. One touch of the bloodied, smeared weapons and the warm-hearted, emotional human being turned into a stone-hard Prince. "What's the situation?"

Well, if Arthur wanted to play the gallant warrior, so would Merlin. _And_, as a special albeit secret punishment, the warlock would _not_ tell his princely friend that he'd almost missed their chance of freedom too, as he had taken his time waking up from an obviously drug-induced sleep.

Instead the sorcerer put on his best derisive attitude and explained languidly "Your special attire drove Alined's men out of their last senses – luckily they never had many of those in the first place. I escaped from my cell as soon as my magic was free and sent a handful of them into oblivion. Now they mistake us both for the Rashnijaan's demons. I came here, found you, and waited patiently for your grand levee." He paused for more effect but not long enough to allow his Prince a reply. "Antek and Morgyan are outside, looking for the best way out of here as long as the commotion lasts. So, _if_ it pleases your High- and Mightyness, we could go _now_?"

Gwen gave the warlock a punitive look that asked without words "_now all three of us are beastly tough cookies or what?" _

The warlock shrugged lightly. "_Must be all this royal company we keep these days_" his face retorted, silently yet eloquent.

"Any special reason you stand here and gawk, _Mer_lin?" Arthur said impatiently; a tit-for-tat-response if there ever had been one, and, finally a victorious warlock, a bugged Prince and an incredulous Gwen – who would believe these two? - dashed out.

"How long have I been out?" Arthur whispered to his wife, still rattled by Merlin's accusation of having "overslept". Shameful enough that he should have fainted at all, Princes didn't do that where he came from.

"Barely 10 minutes, love" said the dutifully comforting wife. "Just long enough for a certain warlock to make it to our cell."

Merlin huffed from somewhere behind her, Arthur breathed easier after the reassurance, but Gwen still dwelt on 'the cell'. She'd spent some of her darkest hours in there, when Antek had explained to her and an incredulous Morgyan why her husband had had no choice but to lure his own wife into the trap.

Other than the young Count had thought, the casual mentioning of the Prince having just '_to sacrifice his bloody servant for his wife's and friends' sake'_ had done nothing to ease Gwen's mind. The thought of how Arthur would feel under this kind of duress drove her up the walls.

Now she wanted to pinch herself again and again to confirm that it wasn't a dream; that they both were here with her. Sweaty and stinking and dirtied and quite obviously only just returned from a trip to hell and back, but safe and sound.

As safe and sound as one could be in a castle still full of enemy soldiers who had fortunately lost their minds but unfortunately only for the moment.

A meanwhile fully armed Morgyan awaited them by the entrance to the ground floor corridor, as agreed, yet she was alone.

"Where's Antek?" asked Arthur.

"He's coming, he wanted to make sure of something, downstairs."

"To gloat over his father's late_st_ body he has to go _upstairs_" the Prince snapped, which earned him an appalled side glance from all the others, except the last in the row. Who happened to be Merlin. Was there someone cared if Antek was insulted? Certainly not he.

"I'll take your word for it that he's kicked the bucket" the young Count panted as he appeared behind them just at this moment, with two swords of his own in his belt. Passing Merlin, Antek almost pushed him down the stairs, only to stand stock-still in front of the angered warlock, from where he grinned at the others: "Shall we go?"

Arthur agreed wholeheartedly.

Unmolested, almost unseen but by a few frightened, unarmed servants with Alined's crest on their clothes, the Camelotians, one Cymbrian and one Llanfair-belonging-only-to-himself-and-who-gives-a-shit made it to the spacious main yard that separated the manor house from the outer gate of the surrounding fortified walls.

And there their luck ran out.

The knight commanding Alined's guard had restored order to the frantic bunch. Deducing correctly that Arthur, who'd murdered King Alined – for that was what the soldiers still thought – would try to reach the only available exit together with his companions, the knight and his men effectively blocked the way to the gate.

But not in the open. One never knew, with sorcery being involved. Instead they were hiding behind the pillars and walls that surrounded the yard. The strategy had worked a treat in the forest when they'd first captured Pendragon, perhaps it would work again.

To make things more convincing, the few men visible in the yard bolted at the sight of Arthur and his friends, just as planned.

Salvation and freedom before their very eyes, none of the fugitives took care; the group ran towards the gate as fast as possible, taking no heed of their surroundings – or of each other.

It was only when they'd reached the centre of the yard that Antek. Alined's soldiers burst from their hiding places; yelling like madmen they surrounded the two couples.

Arthur realized his blunder instantly and the shock gripped him by the marrow. Frantic with terror he pushed Gwen behind him – but it was no good as the attackers now closed in on him from all sides. Before he could think he was entangled in close combat.

Three attackers the Prince killed in the first minutes of the fight. Alined had clearly saved on the wrong things when it came to his army, but it had been the quality, not the quantity that suffered from his austerity programme.

What was more, unlike Arthur and his friends Alined's men were rested, they had been well treated and fed during the last few days.

Bit by bit Pendragon found his strength ebbing away, until nothing but sheer tenacity and the fear of what defeat would bring kept him on his feet. His courage sank when he watched the injured Count being disarmed. However, Morgyan came to Antek's aid and, to a mesmerized Prince's surprise, defeated the two men who'd hassled young Llanfair with a few effortless, swift strikes.

"Arthur, behind you!" Antek yelled and the Prince darted round. Two attackers had aimed for his unprotected back, with their swords raised high into the air, attacking with all the speed and strength they could muster. It was a formidable, albeit not very honourable approach to killing an exhausted man from behind and Arthur knew instantly that he stood no chance. One he would take out, the other one would get through.

But it wasn't his imminent death or recapture which made his blood run cold. From the left side a slender dark-skinned figure threw herself at the attackers, looking so very tiny and fragile against their bulk, her reckless sacrifice so absurdly meaningless in a fight of giants against a dwarf.

And yet the foolishly reckless move brought Arthur the decisive two or three seconds he needed. He fell down, rolled over his shoulder and, miraculously, succeeded, against all odds, in tripping one of the attackers. The other screamed when Arthur's knife, still the ceremonial blade Anwar had used for his rituals, slid open his shank to the bone and with it the artery. The man also stumbled and fell on his face.

It would have been an incredible success, had the dying man not buried Gwen beneath him, his heavy body made even heavier by a load of chainmail, armour and weapons. With a sickening sound Gwen's head hit the ground and she lay still. Motionless.

Without thinking Arthur jumped to his feet and ran to the man's side, fully focussed on making sure that she was alive, in one piece.

It was in the mirror of her wide, dazed eyes that he saw the second man put his sword point on his neck. "Drop it" Alined's head knight said. "One move and you both are dead!"

On the other side of the battlefield Morgyan lowered her sword when four men at once encircled Antek who stood with his back to the wall.

The fight was over.

Despite the many still or writhing bodies on the ground it was no question who had lost. Alined's head knight was master of the situation. "Get up, to your feet, both of you. And don't try anything; my archers have you in full sight."

Whilst some of Alined's men collected their captives' weapons, the Prince and the others were herded to the yard's left side, where, for unloading carts no doubt, a long, strong wooden beam went from one roof to the other of two spacious warehouse sheds.

A quick glance assured Arthur that neither Morgyan nor Antek were seriously injured, except for the stump of an arrow still sticking out of Llanfair's right shoulder. Gwen huddled to her husband's side. She was only half conscious; if she felt any panic her frantic breathing was the only sign of it.

Arthur laid his arm around her and pulled her close. He just refused to think of where and how Merlin was.

During the whole fight, the warlock had been invisible. Come to think of it he'd been gone before they'd reached the yard's open. Which could only mean one thing – and that was too dreadful to ponder.

Apparently the enemy had the same thought. "Where's the wizard brat" one soldier said, trying hard to make amends for his former cowardice by hitting his elbow into Arthur's ribs. "Lost his appetite for fightin?"

"He's dead" the Prince said hoarsely, biting down the sudden pain. "One of your men in the cellar killed him."

Saying it was – almost – believing it. Merlin, you idiot, where are you?

The soldier would've loved to continue the discussion but his superior had other plans, as he pushed him roughly aside.

"An inglorious end to a glorious life" Alined's former head knight addressed his prisoner. Arthur remembered him all too well from his first capture. A man of almost two metres' height; with broad shoulders, a pockmarked face, black eyes and greyish hair. A no kidding type. "No doubt my late King's heir would prefer to get you alive, Prince Arthur. But with my few men I can't take the risk."

The Prince watched the other soldiers bringing a few long ropes, each with a hangman's noose and he felt faint and furious at the same time. Yet with a whole bunch of swords threatening him and the others he did not resist when their hands were tied behind their backs.

He could not allow this to happen, however meagre the hope of success was, he _had_ to try: "_I_ killed King Alined. Leave the others alone, they've done no harm to your King or you."

"Don't beg, Arthur" Morgyan brusquely interrupted. "He'll scream himself to death soon enough. There are two Kings in Albion who will make sure of that."

The knight took the bait, neck and crop. To Llanfair's nifty mind it meant survival already when the enemy commander talked to Morgyan instead of just going on with the executions. "_Two_ Kings, eh? And who would you be; the keeper of His Majesty's chamber pots?"

"Where have you been living, in a slum?" retorted Antek in Morgyan's place. "She's Morgyan, sister to King Cendred of Cymbria, and his sole legitimate heir. The Lady your soldier almost murdered is the Crown Princess of Camelot." He grinned scornfully. "All the others here you know. Hang us and I can only hope you've already bought a rope for your own neck, it would be quicker than what Cendred and Uther would do to you."

"There's never been much love wasted between Cymbria and Camelot" the knight replied with a somewhat forced indifference.

Arthur pulled himself together. The ropes were hanging from the beam. Almost ready. No time for being speech- or witless. "There will be now" he said "my father King Uther will marry the Princess Morgyan in two months time!"

The effects of that statement were – interesting, to say the very least.

Antek, from whom Morgyan had kept these marriage plans for obvious reasons, beamed, from one ear to the other. When it came to women he wasn't the brightest of chaps but Morgyan's declarations of her undying wish to keep him safe, to protect her precious little lamb from all harm had been hard to miss – and hard to misunderstand.

Gwen, not altogether aware of the circumstances, rolled her eyes.

Morgyan fumed – but she did it silently.

Alined's knight frowned. The second thoughts and qualms this news gave him were plainly written across his face.

He was in a dreadful plight. He could not hope to secure these prisoners, not for a trip through half of Camelot, he could not hang them, as a two-front war would finish his country and King, and he could not let them go – his new King would've his head for it.

Alined's heir would feast for a month that his despicable uncle was dead, but he couldn't admit to that, could he. No, in public the new King had to keep up appearances, which meant, among other things, that he _must_ hate and punish the man who'd murdered his predecessor, even though he really wished to give him a medal.

Damn, damn, damn. To hell with politics.

The unfortunate victor was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely heard the horns calling from somewhere outside the manor house's premises.

Morgyan's face, however, lit up at the sound. "If you've trouble deciding, that should help you. I know these horns; my brother's men are at the gate!"

It was too late for Alined's much tested guards to close the gate, as the advance of Cendred's troops already entered the yard in full gallop, Morgyan's barely 16 years old bastard-nephew Gyrrin in the lead. The spitting image of his proud father.

When he spotted Sir Leon directly behind the Cymbrian leader, Arthur knew that their troubles were over. His knees gave in for a second, but luckily only Gwen noticed. "Surrender now" the Prince said to the appalled knight as haughtily as he could "and I swear no harm will come to you and your men."

Morgyan and Antek huffed in unison, but both thought that there would be other days to adduce the supercilious Pendragon that that was not for him to decide.

Alined's knight knew when the odds were against him. When Leon and Gyrrin dismounted, the prisoners had already been untied.

For once in their lives, nobody found it peculiar that a knight, a Prince and a former handmaid of Camelot hugged each other for dear life.

Especially as Morgyan and Gyrrin were doing exactly the same. "Ma Tante, if you'd been hurt my father would have laid waste to all of Camelot" Gyrrin said, dead seriously, and again Morgyan made a mental note that she'd some explaining to do as soon as she came round to it.

But first things first and first of all she had to see her brother. Before the affectionate tyrant overflowed with grief about his little sister's unknown fate and did something very, very stupid. Like taking his anger out on a most unfortunate King of Camelot. Or on each and anyone of Antek's men he could catch. Or on some wretched Druids who'd done him no harm.

"Let's go home, Gyrrin" she said, sobbing a little for more effect. She adored her nephew but he was a man, and needed to be treated as such. Her brother was the only exception. Him she took seriously. Sometimes. "These were horrible, horrible days" she fretted with a heart-breaking look "I want to go home. Please can we go home now? Look at my clothes, and I'm so _dirty_!"

Gyrrin, as always, melted away under her pleading eyes. Excitedly he began chatting of the great feast his father would give in honour of the occasion and how happy he was to find his beloved aunt unharmed. Only once he interrupted himself to ask: "What about the Pendragons and Llanfair? Are they coming with us?"

"Naturally" Morgyan said, smiling radiantly through a well-timed veil of tears, "where else should they go?"

"And Alined's men?" Gyrrin began an angry frown but that was not what Morgyan wanted. She needed her nephew in a good mood for a speedy return home. Let Cendred deal with Alined's guards, her brother needed a little amusement from time to time. Kept him healthy and in good spirits as well as his clutches away from better people.

On the other hand, no use aggravating a certain Crown Prince any further, not now.

The Princess Royal of Cymbria knew when and how to stall for time if a situation called for it. "Oh, Gyrrin, how should I know? I'm not as you, not a knight. I would simply lock them up in the dungeons of this manor. You could leave a third of your troops behind to guard them until Cendred knows what he wants."

_After_ Cendred had talked it through with his sister, of course.

"Splendid idea" Gyrrin agreed, his face all sunshine once more. "My clever little aunt."

A casual wave with his hand, some short commands and Cendred's well trained men had their orders. Gyrrin went back to pleasant chatting with his father's sister.

Neither Antek nor Arthur had any say in the matter from there on.

Gwen was taken care of most considerately, by Morgyan's personal command. But when the Pendragon Crown Prince started a fight for a chance to look for his lost servant, the Cymbrians didn't take it very well.

Arthur's permission wasn't asked when they took him away and in the end he could consider himself fortunate for being allowed to ride freely and speak to Leon instead of being hauled away like a tightly roped piece of package freight.

Antek was simply led away by some of the Cymbrian knights what, as Cendred's liegeman, he could hardly refuse.

After what could not have been more than two hours after their arrival the cavalcade was on their way again, back to Cendred's present residence.

Morgyan's nervous gaze swept over the countryside as they rode out, over the edge of the forest around the manor's fortifications. But all was empty and quiet.

Much quieter herself she settled down for another chat with Gyrrin.

Arthur, however, had nothing to calm him down. In vain Leon waited for any sign of joy about the last-second rescue. Worried by the inexplicable dark mood, he started a most unwelcome inquisition.

At first the Prince could distract his friend by asking after Leon's own fate. Dutifully but not very happy the knight told him about Agneta's betrayal which left Arthur with the uncomfortable knowledge that not only he and his father were at the Cymbrians' mercy, but also his son. He tried to be mad at Agneta, even at Gwen, for endangering the little one, but he couldn't.

If anyone was to blame for this tangled mess, it was Arthur Pendragon and him alone.

Leon, truly scared by Arthur's face, tried to bring him out of his misery. "Gaius and Marwon?" he asked, convinced that the two clever magicians would always come out on top of things.

"Somewhere on the road to Camelot" Arthur said listlessly. "Thank Gods for small mercies. But if my father wanted _you_ to be on that road, too, why are you here?"

The knight blushed under his beard and he looked guilt-stricken for a moment. "I thought…." he began, but he broke off. It took him almost a minute to go on. "I thought…. if I was to bring a useless lie to Camelot anyway, telling everybody to keep their feet still and nothing else – I might as well bring my wife to her tribe and join those who look for you and Gw… I mean the Crown Princess of Camelot."

He looked at his Prince, searching for exculpation, and Arthur was touched against his will. However, it only made things worse. He instilled such loyalty in people and he didn't deserve it, he just didn't deserve it.

Leon, against all his usual customs, continued to pry into his Prince's privacy, hell-bent on knowing what had happened but Arthur kept the details to himself. It was enough that Leon knew about Alined's attempts at forcing Merlin to cooperate in some weird magical experiment which had gone terribly awry.

The Prince dreaded the inevitable question that would now follow as sure as night follows day.

"Where is Merlin now, Sire?"

Arthur opened his mouth to say "_I don't know, I hope he's all right_" but he found he couldn't say it. No one and nothing would keep the always loyal, always selfless, always far-too-brave warlock from coming to his Prince's side in a fight. Nothing but one.

"I don't know what happened but he's dead, Leon. Somewhere in this accursed house he lies, dead. And it is my fault!"

There wasn't much talk between the two after that.

Meanwhile the men Gyrrin had left behind made themselves comfortable in the manor house, once they'd locked up the survivors of Alined's guard in the cellar. Peculiarly there were no wounded among the captives. The injured men had suddenly died, as soon as Camelot's Crown Prince had turned his back. A very embittered former head knight of King Alined didn't think very highly of Pendragon honour after that and it was just as well that Arthur did not know.

It would be a short wait, if the Cymbrians knew their rash King. The manor was well stocked, with fine food and wine. The whole thing made for a welcome vacation.

"Where's the carcass" the leader asked one of his aides, referring to Alined's body.

"Six feet under ground, as you said Sir. But what'bout 'im?" A dirty shoe prodded the lean unconscious figure on the ground, not very harshly but not too gently either.

"We should've told our Gyrrin he's here" the leader said doubtfully, staring uncomfortably at the black hair, the pale skin. Maybe the knocked-out lad meant trouble? To whom did he belong? Alined? Pendragon? That Llanfair scum? Or, heaven beware, to Princess Morgyan?

The aide shrugged. "We only found 'im on the cellar steps after 'is 'ighness was gone." Not one of Cendred's personal guards cared about Gyrrin's illegitimacy; to them he was their Crown Prince and Gods help the idiots who said something else. "How was we t'know they've boys lyin' around 'ere?"

"Any idea why he doesn't budge?"

"Might be drunk!"

"Don't think he is."

After some more frowning and hm-hming the leader came to a decision. "Let him lie in a corner on a blanket as long as he wants. If he wakes up, fine. If he pegs out, it's not my fault."

So it happened that Merlin was pushed aside like so much dirt, to fend for himself against an enemy nobody else could see or hear.

Outside the manor's walls Marwon and Gaius huddled together, waiting for the night. They had been powerless against Arthur and Gwen being taken away but once Gaius had spotted Leon at the Prince's side he had convinced himself that his pet Pendragons were safe and comfy enough.

Which was convenient as it left him free to look for _his_ boy. Which, come hell or high water, he would do, with or without Marwon's support.

Surprisingly - and luckily as Gaius had no idea how to persuade a man by barking and woofing alone - the Druid needed no persuasion at all.

Like Gaius, the young Druid had seen Leon riding with the Cymbrians and for him that meant all was well with his tribe and sister. So he, too, could focus on another duty.

Marwon knew he had been a horrible embarrassment and disappointment for his father from day one. Whatever happened, he would not let the old man down again. Yet at the same time he'd show the late Lord Druid that his son wasn't worthless after all.

His was the quest of a warrior, not of a sorcerer. Something a hapless almost magic-blind Druid with a knight's skills could actually _do._

As his father Arenboarth would've done, and Prince Arthur given any chance, Marwon would search for the great Emrys.

He didn't know where, he didn't no how, but the manor house at night was as good a place to start as any.

It was a pity, though, that neither healer nor Druid had had a chance to talk to Antek or Morgyan about their plans. Both nobles could have given them a hint or two as to what had happened to Arthur's best friend.

But even if they had known about Marwon's and Gaius' quest, Count and Princess both had many a reason to keep their mouths shut.


	27. All's bad that ends bad

**A/N: Hi folks, if there are any folks who're still interested in a story that hasn't been updated in many months. As always I'm virtually crushed by my guilty conscience but – my work, my private schedule – in short my life had another tendency to intervene with my writing fanfiction and as much as I try to better myself on that score, I always fail.**

**But, nevertheless here it is for those who want to read it anyway: The next chapter of The Llanfair Heritage. It's uncommonly short for a chapter of mine, but I felt the cut in this moment of the story was necessary. It may come as a little solace that the next chapter, albeit also a rather short one, will be up tomorrow or perhaps even today.**

**A short reminder as to where the last chapter ended: Arthur, Guinivere and Leon were taken to Cendred by Gyrrin, Morgyan and Antek of Llanfair. Arthur thinks Merlin is dead and he told Leon so. Gyrrin left a small occupation force in Markentower, who found Merlin unconscious on the cellar stairs where he had had his last encounter with Antek, without Arthur noticing it. Gyrrin's men do not know who or what Merlin is. Marwon and Gaius are hell-bent on rescuing Merlin, but unfortunately Marwon's efforts to bring Gaius back from a magical stupor induced by the Dark Arts of the Rashnijaan have turned the old healer into a dog, mentally and physically. Marwon succeeds in turning Gaius back into a human, but, alas, its only physically. This new chapter starts with Merlin's perspective of the circumstances he awakes to after he had met with Antek on the stairs...**

**Please, forgive me the endless delay and give me some reviews! PLEEEAAASSSEEE!**

**27 All's bad that ends bad**

Merlin had the peculiar feeling that he was a horse which had, quite involuntarily, overtaken itself and consequently finished its last jump on the wrong foot. Again and again he tried to get up and walk but he stumbled and staggered pitiably. Finally he found some hold for his hands to keep him upright but moving further was out of the question.

Was he on a ship? This had to be a ship, from the way the ground kept rolling under his feet. How and when and why had he boarded a ship?

His head ached and he felt like vomiting. Voices. Voices in his head, some loud, some whispering, all vicious, malicious, ill-tempered. If only the ground would stop moving. Merlin closed his eyes against the blinding, hurting lights that also moved in wild circles.

Big mistake. From the darkness creatures emerged, misbegotten, disfigured, howling madly, clawing at him, hurting him further. The voices screamed at him, in a language he didn't understand. And yet he knew what they were saying. What they wanted. His blood, his life, his soul. His magic. They longed for it, drivelling like wild dogs for a piece of raw, bloody meat.

Out. He had to get out of here. Where was everybody? He needed help. Something vital was missing, something he needed to survive, something that belonged at his side. Some_one_ who belonged at his side. "Arthur? Where are you? Arthur!" Merlin thought he yelled the name but his throat was parched, he hardly made any sounds at all.

He thrashed about blindly, hoping to get a hold on someone. Someone who should be with him. He couldn't leave him out of his sight, Arthur did not know, could not prevent, couldn't protect, could not be left to face the danger alone.

It was confusing. Voices inside his head, voices outside of it. Fighting, struggling voices and they all hurt so much. He felt so fragile, helpless and alone.

He began to crawl, slowly, oh so slowly. He'd never make it, he'd not get away from their claws, not at this rate, never. The creatures pulled at his flesh; he felt like a nut, any second now the outer shell would be pried open and the soft, vulnerable core that was his magic would be pulled into the open, to be taken from him, to be devoured by these demons...

Demons! The word rang a bell with him. Demons, he and Arthur had gone out to fight demons, demons in a book or had it been demons from a book?

One of the creatures inside his head laughed briefly, darkly, a hollow, mirthless, bitter sound. This creature, the only one among the crawling, howling, twirling mass, had a face, a face the wizard knew... a face gruesomely familiar and yet he couldn't put a name to it... The ugly, distorted and yet laughing face moved away from the others now, fast, faster, walking on a bridge of light and at the other end was... Merlin couldn't make it out. The light was too bright. But he knew that he had to protect whatever it was at the other end from this laughing, mocking creature, at any cost.

The warlock made a last effort to get on his feet and follow the creature but two other demons threw themselves into his way. Their heads, if it were heads, morphed and melted, and now he recognized them beyond all doubt. Twister and Alined. Their hands clung to him, their arms embraced him, almost strangled him. "Don't leave us, don't leave us here..."

Disgusted, abhorred Merlin tried to shake off their hands, to push them away but they hung on for dear life.

The voices from outside became louder. Someone called his name. Arthur! It _had_ to be him!

"I'm coming" Merlin yelled. "Wait for me. Don't go!" If only he could turn, he knew there had to be a door, a way out of here, right behind him, if only he could turn away from these... monsters. But they kept him where he was; more and more of them came, more and more of them had human faces, screaming for help, for salvation, young men, old men, once proud and regal features destroyed by all vices of mankind.

And now Merlin knew where he was. A world was locked inside the Rashnijaan, a hell for anyone who'd used the Book of Demons and finally paid the price for it. Eternal life meant eternal torment in the demons' bondage; never to die, never to sleep, never to be free or quiet or at peace again. The Book promised power beyond belief and gave it, only to withdraw it all when the final day came, never to give it back. Behind the hollow promise loomed solid and unending betrayal. The glittering path to riches and might led to damnation in the end.

The ancient magicians who conjured up the Rashnijaan had created the ultimate temptation, the final entrapment that carried the punishment for those who succumbed to it right in itself. Punishment for everyone, but for the one creature who had by now reached the end of the bridge and vanished from the Rashnijaan's grounds, just like that, changing from one dimension into another with a single step.

A terrible, anguished scream from the outside world, from the bridge's end, resounded through the demons' world and then a door closed behind the demonic refugee, the light was gone and Merlin knew that he had failed in his last, in his most important mission.

It was all over now. The monster was gone and Emrys had lost the final battle. He had failed. His friends, his destiny, and himself.

It was all over now. No use struggling. The monster would take what must not be taken and Merlin would not be there to prevent it.

The warlock closed his eyes.

He had failed. He had left them all down. He had no right to live.

He surrendered to the claws that pulled him down.

He curled up into a ball and felt his magic pour out of him, bit by bit. It fell like tiny drops of cool, clear water into the red hot darkness all around him and the creatures licked it up, thirstily, pushing each other away in their greed.

But there were too many of them. The magic, even Merlin/Emry's singular magic, would not be enough to set just one of them free. Nor would the warlock find a place in their ranks when they were through with him.

Like anything else these creatures had devoured in their earthly lives, when they had been men, may it be love, beauty, fortune, power or human beings, the warlock's precious magic, his real life-force, would be wasted and spoilt, for a moment's pleasure, without consequence, without meaning, for nothing and nothing would remain of him.

A growl was among the last things Merlin heard before blackness claimed him. A growl like that of gigantic hound, right by his ear. Something panted at his side, a claw pawed the ground angrily. Merlin did not care. He was beyond caring. He had cared for so many things, for so many people once, but in the end he had failed them all. The only thing left to do was to end it, here and now. He welcomed the warm, comforting cloud that carried him away.

What he could not see was the creatures withdrawing, fearful, wary. Someone else had entered the demons' realm and unlike Merlin, he had come on purpose.

Four huge paws, four long, muscular legs stood over the warlock, white fangs were bared and still the low growl filled the air. The enormous wolf, grey furred, with a white haired snout, laid his head back and howled. A kind of magic unheard of in the demons' world seeped out of him, built an aura around him and the young warlock.

The creatures pulled back, whimpering with unfamiliar pain and terror.

Never before had a real magician, a carrier of natural magic, made it into their dimension with his powers intact and ready for use. They were vampires of magic, but their might was stealth and deception. They could not fight what was in its prime; like spiders they had to paralyse their prey before they could feast on it.

Step by step the wolf retreated, the warlock firmly in his fangs.

From a far distance, obscured in the shadows, one of the creatures stared at the wolf, not greedily like the others, but wishfully, and sad. Unlike the others this creature had no real substance to it, more like a shadow, a ghost of a being. This way an image may become a spectre caught behind a mirror's glass as soon as the person who looked into it laughs and turns away and forgets about the cold shiver that ran down their spine.

The wolf, still pulling the warlock out of danger, back into the world of the living, returned the spectre's intend gaze uncomfortably. Remembering something he would have wished to forget, never to be reminded of. An old shame, an old disgrace. Whatever it was, it did not prevent him from fulfilling his task.

A door opened behind the wolf and, slowly going backwards, animal and warlock reached their own bridge of light, crossed it, passed the door and were gone.

The light had left.

The creatures dispersed. Trapped, for another eternity. Alined and Twister among them, only now grasping what had happened to them. What would happen to them, from now on, until all time would end and even after that.

The sad spectre in the shadows lingered a while longer. It whispered something, but its voice was like a soft breeze and not to be understood. Finally it turned away from where the door had been and in the split second before it merged into the darkness, it showed the features of a young man whose name had once been Arenboarth.


	28. Writing on the wall

**28 Writing on the wall**

"How is he?" Marwon asked while he freed himself from the load of vitals he'd bought. Ruefully he looked at the still significant amount of silver coins in his hand. Just as well that the Lord Druid would never know how his son had come by that kind of money.

The simple but not very 'Drui-dish' truth was that, with Marwon's sword skills and Gaius' medkit hired out they'd done exceedingly well ever since they'd reached the little harbour town on the far southern coast of Wales.

Roman build and miraculously kept in good shape by its inhabitants through all turmoil the small place was busy and prosperous and used to all sorts of strangers. Even if these strangers arrived with an unmoving, by all appearances dead youth in their cart of whom they nevertheless took the most tender care, as if he were an Elfish Prince, what with his black hair, white skin and peculiar ears.

A few curious looks, some veiled questions, some rumours quickly ousted from people's mind by some other nine-day-wonders and that had been it. Marwon had rented the small but comfortable cottage with his first pay and Gaius had set up his practice here, which quickly flourished. It left him enough time to take care of his 'Elfish Prince'. Not that there was much to care about except washing and feeding the otherwise unresponsive body.

Now, as an answer to Marwon's question, the healer turned away from his patient to face the Druid. "Woof" Gaius said acidly. "Woof, woof, woof!"

Unnerved, Marwon kicked a chair through the room until it crashed against the wall. "Stop it, Gaius! I've said once, I've said a hundred times I'm sorry. What else _can_ I say? Would you rather I'd let you lie where you were, unconscious and at risk of freezing or being eaten by some animal that roamed the outskirts of Markentower?"

"It took you three weeks to turn me back into my old self" Gaius retorted accusingly. "And even then you hit on the right spell by pure chance! Now you are on your little business trips all the time, escorting a so called noble man here, body-guarding a wayward Lady there, protecting a merchant's loot the one day and looking for a chance to steal it the other I shouldn't wonder. Which is, by the way, what I'm doing all the time whilst being stuck here, all alone. Wondering! Wondering what should become of us all! Or what has happened to the others in the meantime. Five months since Arthur and the others were taken away by Cendred's men, _**five**_ months it will be come Monday!"

"Gaius, it isn't my fault that Emrys doesn't wake up. _You_ are the healer after all!"

"If you had found that way into the Rashnijaan a little earlier..."

"May I remind you that, had you gone into the demons' world in your own self, they'd captured and devoured you, just like Emrys." Marwon snapped back. "Your spirit could move there at will because it – and thanks to _me_! - could take a dog's shape! And because my own father..." At this point, as always when talking about the day they had found Merlin unconscious and on the brink of death amongst a bunch of uncaring, brainless Cymbrian brutes, Marwon broke off.

"It was a _wolf's_ shape, actually" Gaius said, much gentler, as he knew the turn Marwon's thoughts had taken. "The camouflage was indeed very helpful, I've never denied that. As was your help against the drunken soldier who thought of Merlin as his personal toy. As to your father and the Rashnijaan... I've said before, you're making too much of it. It's a mere shadow, a residue, nothing more."

"It was strong enough for me to sense it in the first place, and to use it as a foothold for you" Marwon said bitterly. "You hear what I'm saying? _**I**_ could sense it, blind and deaf as my magic is compared to yours ... to think that a part of my father's soul is captured there, in this hell, to all eternity..." The Druid shivered. "He was a great man, my father" he said heatedly, as if Gaius was about to deny it. "A very great man. This is a disgrace, a shame to his name..."

"Yes he was" Gaius replied "one of the greatest I've ever known. But he was still a man, not a deity. When he was very young, and very ambitious, he was weak, for an instant, and tempted by the Rashnijaan. Yet he fought temptation and he shunned it and he came out of it stronger, as the man he was meant to be. He did the Druids and the Blessed Isle proud, every day of his life. What the Rashnijaan has kept is a memory of Arenboarth's greatest victory. Now where is the shame in that?"

"I saw your face, old man" Marwon said. "Don't you lie to me, I was there with you, in a way. I saw, through _your_ mind, how you looked at him. You felt the shame, as I do."

"I knew how he'd never forgiven himself his one hour of wavering faith and courage. For that I pitied this lost, empty shadow, as a reminder of that remorse. But you, you have no right to think of shame. You should be proud of your father." Mentally Gaius crossed his fingers behind his back. _He_ would never forgive the late Lord Druid for dragging Merlin and the Pendragons into the Rashnijaan's circle of evil, he'd hate and loath the dead Arenboarth for that until his last day. But that loathing was his, not Marwon's.

"Let's not argue" the young Druid tiredly gave way. The all too familiar quarrel did not become more valuable, or more comfortable, by repetition. "There's only one hope for anyone who's caught inside the Book of Demons. It has to be destroyed. And the one man who could have done that is lying on that bed, as lively and as useful as a rock inside a mountain!" Angrily he pointed at Merlin's still form.

Gaius sighed. "This impatience you've got from your mother" he said, thinking of how Nimueh had brought doom about herself and Camelot because she'd been too rash in granting a King's wish for an heir that nature wouldn't give him. More power for the Blessed Isle and for it's High Priestess, the prestige of having done the impossible, the fortune as well as the splendour of a future High King's friendship ….. dreamt of and ruined in the blink of an eye.

And no sign, no word about the Crown Prince who'd been born from the wreck and ruin of that day. No word about Uther, Little thomas, Gwen... No news from Camelot would ever make it to thios godforsaken place...

"As you said, it has been almost five months" Marwon shouted and cut through Gaius' musings. "I've been _very _patient I should think! You said, his magic has to recover. You said, he needs rest. You said, in this state we cannot risk him being seen by anyone who knows what he is, not even by Camelot or by his own mother. So we went into hiding, we left my people, and yours, and his, I've not seen my wife, my sister, our kids... Almost half a year and nothing's changed. I'm sick of it, Gaius, sick up to my back teeth."

The healer looked at the seething young man, the broken chair, the damaged wall and cocked a brow. "I'm not quite sure you're really a match for Prince Arthur's sword skills yet. But you sure do have His Highnesses' temper."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means" Gaius drawled with gentle irony "that you both tend to overrate and underrate Merlin's powers at the same time. Yes, they are great and no, they're neither infallible nor invulnerable. He will come back to us, as his old self, do not worry. But it takes time. You must be patient."

"Look who's talking." All the irony was on Marwon's side now. "The man who bit my head off on sight, just a few minutes ago, because he was tired of staring at a white washed wall and a living corpse while I was out earning the money we need to survive!"

"Oh, get lost" Gaius shouted, throwing his arms into the air in frustration. "Put away the stuff you bought. It will be useless anyway, as always." With a huff he turned away and resumed his seat by Merlin's side. He listened to Marwon's angry rummaging through the cottage. It sounded as if a few chests and cupboards were once more in dire need of some magical repair skills. Oh, let them rot for all Gaius cared. He was a healer of people, not of furniture.

But, as usual, Gaius' anger was short lived. What Marwon said was true. The healer couldn't do much good to his one pet patient and all his other pet patients were far, far away, and out of reach of an old, homesick fool who no longer believed in his own professional optimism.

The days dragged on after that, morning turned into night and night into morning, Gaius held his lonely and fruitless vigil at the sickbed dutifully, but the sense of it was lost to him. He just did not know what else to do.

Marwon was mostly out, he couldn't stand the still life on the bed under the southern window.

What was more, the Druid found out how much the life of a wandering warrior suited him and the day came on which he finally admitted to himself that he had never felt that free and like himself before. A Druid with a sword, a born magician with hardly any magic at all – a living contradiction and it felt wonderful. He got in many fights and each victory made him stronger, every near-disaster taught him another lesson of how to improve his skills. His friends were friendly, his adversaries gratifyingly adversarial and life was great.

During the days, the sun shone warm on Marwon Son of Arenboarth.

But there were the nights, too. The moon did nothing to flatter him with praise of what he'd achieved, it tortured him with memories of what he'd left behind. His tribe, his village, family, his childhood friends – and all the promises he'd made.

Five months became six months, then six months and a week.

Life had become a quiet affair in the cottage, with two men painfully avoiding each other to the best of their abilities, each one suffering his nightmares of the past and dreads of the future in silence and alone.

Marwon came home from an escort job, with a broad gash in his shoulder. Irritably he shrugged Gaius off and went to bed, sulking.

The healer heard the Druid talking in his sleep. It didn't sound very cheerful.

Gaius stuffed some old rags in his ears.

Sometime during the afternoon he realized that stuffing his ears wouldn't help.

They simply could not go on like that.

The old man mustered all his strength to take Merlin to a special place in the forest behind the village. The young warlock was skin and bones and yet magic had to help or Gaius could not have carried his ward all the way to the ancient ring of stones with the remains of an altar in the centre. All so much decayed and eroded that they were hardly visible but for someone who knew what to look for. And who could feel the power softly sleeping under the rotten leaves and fallen wood.

Gently, ever so careful, Gaius placed the wizard on the stone plate. He made the younger man as comfortable as he could. Then he leaned back against a tree that had fallen many years ago. While it slowly died and withered, it gave life to myriads of beings, very small, small and bigger ones, one of which would one day help a new tree to life, to start the eternal circle all over again.

Silently the former disciple of the Blessed Isle's Healers' Temple waited for the moon. She wandered through the sky and Gaius felt the place's age old magic stir in its sleep.

When her pale light flooded the altar the old man knew that it was time.

Resolutely Gaius took out his best surgeon's knife and with some fast, strong cuts, he opened the veins in both his wrists.


	29. Nirwarna's bliss

**29 Nirwarna's bliss**

Gaius saw his life blood running out of him, and fast. The blood fell on the altar, then on the younger man's barely beating heart. The stone circle's magic rose, united with the old magician's own powers.

The connection came to life, immediately. As he'd found his way inside the Rashnijaan's spirit world six months earlier, Gaius now forced his way inside the warlock's mind.

So, going _in_ was not a problem. Going _on _from there most definitely was.

And it had all seemed so easy when Gaius planned it.

As a healer, and as a magician, he knew that six months were more than enough time for the warlock's magic to recover from the ordeal inside the Rashnijaan. If the body didn't wake up it was because the spirit didn't want it to. Therefore, the spirit, the core magic that was Emry's life force, had to be called back from wherever it had withdrawn to. Who better to do this than the warlock's old friend Gaius, as usual standing in loco parenti?

Using the old sanctuary he'd found in the woods as well as his own knowledge of spiritual magic and mind-wandering this same Gaius, wise and clever, would bring the warlock back to the real world, in no time.

So far, so simple.

But, as Gaius had often muttered to himself whilst listening to Uther's high flying aspirations, life is what's happening to you while you're busy making other plans.

The healer had taken it for granted that, on entering the young warlock's mind, he'd find a perfect replica of Camelot, perhaps with some parts of Ealdor blended into it. What else should the injured warlock imagine as a refuge from the pain and fear he'd suffered? Doubtlessly Gaius would find him somewhere inside the 'castle', perhaps inside a room that looked vaguely like Arthur's chambers. The old, wise mentor would box the wizard's ears – metaphorically spoken – and bring him back to his senses.

One look at his surroundings and Gaius knew how far off his assumptions had been.

There was no castle, no village. Indeed, nothing he saw was even vaguely familiar. Gaius found himself surrounded by a vast landscape, unlike anything he – or anyone else, for that matter – had ever seen. Not even read about.

The world the injured warlock had made up as a sanctuary for his wounded, defiled spirit was completely his own.

Huge, snow covered mountains made up the far horizon. It was night, with a bright full moon bathing the scenery in her silvery light. Vegetation was wild, voluptuous, beautiful. Tall trees, bushes, flowers everywhere. The plant's fragrance mixed with the sounds of invisible animals roaming the dense, marvellous jungle.

At first, Gaius looked in vain for some way or road through the wilderness. This landscape had not been created for trespassing. Whoever lived here had no wish to be found.

Finally, the healer saw some hidden, narrow pathways. Almost completely overgrown they meandered through the brushwood, into darkness.

Gaius' courage faltered.

What had he been thinking? Camelot, Ealdor, the real world – call it what you like, it had brought the warlock no peace, no safety. All he'd found there was danger and grief. At first, it might have been an adventure but in the end, the hurt had been too much. Naturally, he'd one day recoil from it.

Emry's magic was a piece of nature, instinctive, inbred. He was singular, different, not like others. The day would come on which the warlock found out that he was safer, quieter and more at peace inside himself, inside his magic, than he would ever be among people.

Gaius had dreaded that day, right from the start. True enough, the warlock's human soul tied him to Camelot and to his friends. Under no normal circumstances he'd ever abandon them. But this time, things were different. The inner magic itself had been badly wounded by the demons. Compared to that, the human ties might not count for much.

Gaius knew he could wander through this labyrinth for hours, days, or weeks. This was dream time, he could have relived his whole life in this world but in the real world it would have been some seconds, not more.

And yet, in both worlds a human body with open veins would bleed out eventually.

If the young warlock didn't want to be rescued, Gaius wouldn't survive his mission.

The healer was shaking from head to toe when he finally spotted the lean figure sitting on a cliff's edge above an abyss. The moonlight danced on the raven black hair. Emry's face was turned to the sky, wistfully adoring the stars that speckled it. More than ever he looked like the Elfish Prince some people, tipped off by some half forgotten instinct, had taken him for. Gaius shivered as he realized that he had to look twice before he recognized his beloved boy in this remote, haughty man.

The warlock's silhouette, clearly painted against the nightly sky, showed squared shoulders. An erect neck and a forbidding, disinterested face.

But Gaius had no choice. Time was running out through his opened veins and he wasn't as young and strong as he'd once had been. "Please" he panted desperately. "Please, my boy, help me!"

"No." The warlock answered without turning, and he could not have been less interested in his visitor. "I can't help anyone. Go elsewhere."

"You must turn to me and help me or I'm going to die!"

"What has it to do with me?" Emrys asked. "I'm weak myself, I can no longer fight the world. Go away!" And he focused his attention back on the landscape.

Gaius shook his head. His throat tightened. Time, there was no time and yet he had to try another tack. "It's beautiful" he said. "This landscape, this canyon, the stars and sky – it's so very beautiful, my boy." And indeed, now that he said it, Gaius could hear and see the silver bond of a river flowing through the valley deep down below the slope the warlock was resting upon. Huge, friendly birds crossed the sky, in all colours of the rainbow.

"Yes, isn't it" Emrys muttered, still staring at the stars. "Nothing ever dies here. Nothing ever suffers. I only wish I had found this place before."

"And now you're thinking you can stay here and be part of it all. Never leave. Never come back to us." Gaius' sight was a bit fuzzy but still he saw the young shoulders move in disgusted rejection.

"I won't come back" Emrys said, and he sounded aggravated, for all his calm composure. "Why should I? I am no use to anyone back there. I like it here."

"I thought you liked _us_."

"It hurt" the warlock replied heatedly. "Being with you, it hurt. I'm at home here. It doesn't hurt here."

"But we need you, my boy. We can't go on without you."

Emrys shuddered. "I don't need _you_. Not any more. I thought I do. But I don't."

Gaius pulled himself together. "Please, my boy. Wouldn't you try? Just one last time."

"I _did_ try" Emrys said vengefully. "I tried and I tried and I tried but in the end, I failed anyone and anyone failed me. It was all for nothing. I'm not one of you. I'm different. I belong here."

"You're the warlock born of legends. _Our_ legends. You belong to us. To Camelot. To Arthur."

"No, I don't. Arthur finds other friends, people that are like him. People like Count Antek! I was welcome when he needed me, but not any more. Not after what has happened. Leave me alone!"

"My boy, please..."

"The man you're addressing was Arthur's _servant_ remember? Well, he can no longer be of service to the Prince. The peasant boy has spent his powers and they weren't so very powerful when it counted most. Emrys – I – am no longer part of your world."

"I won't even pretend to understand the nonsense you're saying, my boy. Fact is that..."

"Am I not entitled to a life of my own?" Emrys interrupted, his pointing finger wandering from one side of the scenery to the other. "To a life that suits me?"

"This _is_ no life, my boy. It's a delusion. A lie. The truth is, I'm dying. I am lost, all Camelot is lost, without you. For heaven's sake, you insolent brat, isn't that enough glory and acknowledgement for an army of warlocks? What more do you want?"

"I want nothing from you and I wish you wanted nothing from me."

Gaius had trouble breathing. He knew he was weakening by the second but he was something else, too. _Angry_! "How could you be of importance here? Do the birds here care about you? Or the trees? Do they talk with you, entertain you, quarrel with you, do they love you?"

"No they do not. They care about themselves. As do I. I'm like them. I have been born in a human body by mistake. _That _was the delusion, not this world. I was never meant to be human. I should have been a tree or a meadow or a stream."

"For the love of the Great Mother" Gaius yelled "stop it! This is insufferable. Your magic is a spoilt brat, a little touch-me-not, I've always known that, it's as capricious and addicted to appreciation as an elderly diva. I promise I will scrap and bow to it for all I'm worth, but _after_ you've saved my arse!"

"You don't need help, you're making this up to trick me into coming with you!" Emrys was visibly proud of his own cleverness that saw through the scheme so quickly.

Gaius was at his wits' ends. "I've cut open all four veins in my wrists, I'm bleeding like a slaughtered pig, my sight is blackening, my legs are trembling, my heart is fluttering, my hands are shaking and would you _**please realize that we don't have time for your childish sulking here**_?"

At last, Emrys got up, turned round and faced the old man, with a puzzled frown. "You cut open your veins? Why should anyone do a thing like that? It's stupid!"

"One needs stupid ways if one is talking to stupid people!" Gaius snapped breathlessly. The jungle, the canyon, the landscape grew hazy before his eyes; the stone circle and forest shone through it, like a picture through a thin veil. "Oh my Gods, please..."

The healer's legs gave way and he fell to his knees, swaying. His arms ached abominably and he felt sick. His body was heavy, and growing heavier.

His mind shed the decades that had made him into an old man. Gaius was the teenage pupil of the Blessed Isle's Temple of Healers once again and his last spell was going awry, oh yes it was, he should have listened to his tutors, he was only a young apprentice after all, he should have listened to the elders when they told him what he could and what he could not do...

A pair of arms held him before he toppled over on his face. "Gaius" Merlin said. "Gaius, what have you done?"

"Told you" the teenage would-be healer said. "Told you I wouldn't let you go. Never ever. Just can't. You're the purpose of my life!" He winked playfully. It had been a good joke. His friend was really worried now. Look at the great warlock, the pride of the Isle, the best of the best, look at him, frowning and fretting like a clueless peasant boy from the back of beyond. It had been worth it.

"Gaius!" Merlin called out. "Gaius, you fool, what have you done to yourself?"

"Must come with me now" was Gaius' laboured reply. "Can't leave me like that, can you?" He gulped and moaned under a sudden pain, then he frowned. "Really got myself sick this time, didn't I? Maybe... maybe I overdid it a little..."

Nonetheless, Gaius closed his eyes with a satisfied smile. The young warlock had no longer ears nor eyes for the beautiful scenery around him, he was solely focused on his healer friend, as by rights he should be. A warm and gentle power touched Gaius' aching body. A bit angry, perhaps. A trifle more reluctant than it had felt in the past. Not quite as willingly, not quite as tender as it once had been. But sufficient. More than that, actually.

Without opening his eyes Gaius ignored the now duller pain, raised his arms and embraced his friend. All was well. The cuts on his' wrists closed. The mutilated, strained body began to heal.

All was well.

Merlin took a last, forlorn look at his beloved paradise where he'd been so very happy. Then he too closed his eyes. His magic continued to flow into the other's spirit and thereby left its sanctuary forever.


	30. Expecting the unexpected

**30 Expecting the unexpected**

So it came to pass that Marwon found Merlin and Gaius in the forest by noontime, in a close embrace and fast asleep.

Looking down at the merrily snoring couple, the Druid noticed that he was in a no-kidding mood. Finding himself alone in the cottage in the morning, with both his friends gone without a warning, had scared the hell out of him. He had searched and searched with growing anxiety but no results, until his magic, indistinct and confused as always but unusually adamant, had whispered that there was something peculiar happening in the forest.

Convinced that his accursed imbecile excuse for a magical power had found a bunny's den or anything even less helpful, Marwon had followed its lead nonetheless, in absence of any better idea. Astonishingly, this time the good-for-nothing nitwit muse he'd been cursed with since birth had been right.

Here they were, in the middle of nowhere, on the damp ground, dirty and unkempt, having a little nap.

Marwon lost it. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted at the top of his voice, shaking them both violently. "Leaving me like that? Are you mad?"

Gaius grinned sheepishly and without opening his eyes, he just rolled on his left side and slept on. Merlin blinked once or twice before he fully opened his eyes. Menacingly he stared at the intruder. "_**Shut up**_!"

"Don't you dare speaking to me like that, you brat..." Marwon began, still yelling he did not really know what. He had been _that_ terrified by their absence. However, excusable as it might be, his wasn't an altogether wise course of action.

Merlin's magic wasn't yet fully contained. It was also a little bit on the depressive side, what with the absence of peaceful canyons and rainbow birds and other lovely things. Consequently, on impulse and in utter independence from its master, it leashed out and hit its mark, dead on.

Marwon finished rolling head over heels more than twenty metres away from Merlin, with a swimming head, an aching back and not quite sure he knew what had hit him. With his backside parked in a little rivulet and his legs sticking out in the air the Druid could not be expected to figure it out any time soon, which prompted a still aggravated warlock to help him out and up.

Only when Merlin pushed him to dry land with an irritated huff, Marwon regained his wits. "You're awake!" he screamed, overwhelmed with sudden happiness.

"Oh heaven, thank you, he found out!" Merlin said and not even Arthur Pendragon could have pressed more sarcasm into one single sentence. "How very clever you are."

"No, Merlin, Emrys, you don't get it, you've been unconscious for so long, ever since we freed you from the Rashnijaan and then we came here and then you slept on and on and we did not know what to do, and we did not know what to say..."

"Obviously you still don't" Emrys said, whose head was spinning from the stream of words he was showered with. The normally friendly, gentle and kind warlock named Merlin was still on prolonged leave. The worn out young wizard in his clothes was a wrathful creature and as such he drew heavily on the role model of a certain royal prat to vent his bad mood on the hapless Druid. "Why don't you just hush your mouth until you do?"

"Do what?" Marwon asked, unruffled.

"Know what to say!" Merlin ticked him off.

Marwon beamed from one ear to the other. "But I do. Now you're awake we must go home, find the Rashnijaan, so that you can call in your Dragon so that he can destroy it. After that we must free the Pendragons from Cendred's hold, at least I think they're still there, make peace between Camelot and Cymbria, let Morgyan marry Antek of Llanfair, make Cendred give Antek back his fiefdom, convince Antek that he cannot rebuild Blackrock on the old site for its magic is polluted, find a chieftain for my tribe, and then we can all live happily ever after." The Druid shrugged nonchalantly. "Piece of cake!"

Merlin shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. Then he banged his left hand repeatedly against his temple, with even less success. He could make neither head nor tail of it. Some of it sounded disturbing, like the part of the Pendragons being in someone's hold or that Khilgarrah was obviously needed for some demolition job. But right now he'd eat his scarf if he knew what the Druid was talking about.

Besides, Merlin had the distinct feeling that he should remember something else, and _presto_. Something bad had happened, and although it had felt like a dream – or nightmare rather – at the time, it had been real, he was sure of that. It had been very, very bad, a catastrophe that could bring other catastrophes about and it had had something to do with the Pendragons, especially with Arthur and Gwen.

The warlock racked his brain but the memory wouldn't come to him. Damn, he knew he had seen it, he knew he had heard it and he knew it had been a horrible disaster but what it had been or why and how it had happened – nothing. Instead of becoming clearer and better focussed, all his memories from the Rashnijaan faded away, escaped him like water would run through his fingers. He just couldn't help it.

"You said you and Gaius saved me from the Rashnijaan's grasp?" Merlin asked, a little less angry and a little more gentle than before.

"Yes" Marwon simply answered without going into too much painful detail. "It was mostly Gaius' doing, though" he graciously added.

"He was... the wolf... wasn't he" Merlin said, the images running from his mind faster than he could conjure them.

"Yes he was" Marwon returned in an eager tone. "Impressive, wasn't he?"

"I still do not get it..." Merlin thought aloud. "How does it all …. connect?"

The Druid laughed. He was hilarious, now that he had one of his heroes back. "Never mind. We'll set things to right now, as I said."

"Marwon, how long was I out? How long since you've last seen Arthur or the others? I need a precise answer!"

"Six months, eight days and one hour" Marwon said, as precisely as he could.

"_Six months_?" Merlin's knees wobbled. Gods, in six months, a world could go down and be resurrected with all the pieces wrongly placed. How could he have slept for six months while all he'd ever cherished was obviously in jeopardy?

Marwon saw the other's face and decided on the spot that some more encouragement was needed. "Hey, Merlin - you are Emrys! With your power, Gaius' knowledge and my sword – what could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything" Merlin said with heartfelt conviction. "I don't know how, I don't know why, but believe me, in my life, somehow everything always goes wrong." Then he sat down, cross legged and fell into a stubborn, malevolent silence.

Furtively Marwon looked the crestfallen warlock over. What the hell was wrong with Emrys? Shouldn't he be glad all was well now? Instead he was throwing gloomy prophecies right and left!

Yet in his present mood, Marwon couldn't be downhearted for long.

Nor silent.

With a soft chuckle he pointed at Gaius. "What about him? I say, we let him sleep a bit longer. It has been hard for a man of his years. Can't you make him a bit more comfortable while I go and fetch us something to eat?"

"Yeah sure." Truth be told, Merlin was thankful for the distraction. Marwon was right. As they could not plan for the future they might as well concentrate on the presence. If only he could get rid of the nasty feeling that something was very much amiss with the Pendragons and that the case, as usual, was really REALLY urgent.

However, as Arthur himself liked to say – or softly mutter, rather - when his father was carried away once again with his own greatness and fantastic schemes: First things first!

While the Druid trotted off happily in his pursue of food, Merlin's eyes blazed golden and Gaius was wrapped in a few warm blankets and had got a pillow without so much as stirring.

Now Merlin giggled, too. If only he had thought of that trick years ago, he might have convinced the Pendragons of magic's merits during one of their drawn out hunting trips or military campaigns without ever risking persecution. Both father and son valued a warm bed, especially in a cold forest night, although they'd never admit it.

Gaius was still sleeping soundly when Marwon came back with two fat rabbits, a small chicken and a thick bundle of wild herbs for a salad over his shoulder. He had dug out some edible roots, too.

At once, Merlin felt that the Druid's mood had shifted. Something was troubling Marwon. Something strong and disturbing enough to bring a morose, defiant expression into the usually amiable, open features.

However, the warlock found himself distracted by the dangling animals. "You're a Druid" Merlin said, perplexed.

"Oh heaven, thank you, he found out!" Marwon retorted. "How very clever you are."

The warlock swallowed the comeback on his own former rebuke like a good fellow - by simply ignoring it. "Shouldn't you be a vegetarian?" he asked.

"I" Marwon said pointedly "for my part, like rabbits. In the fields, _after_ harvesting. In my garden, _after_ harvesting. In the woods, at any given time. But mostly at noon, or dinner time, if they are on my plate in a good, wholesome sauce. Any questions?"

"But..." Merlin was still confused. "Shouldn't you... I mean, you Druids are such a tranquil, peaceful people... The poor animals..."

The Druid, an unwelcome premier to Merlin, sneered openly. "Oh, yes. The Druids are very tranquil. And so very peaceful. They'd never hurt anyone's feelings, let alone on purpose, never ever. And they go out of their way to be tolerant. Albeit mostly of their own doctrines!"

His obvious irritation notwithstanding, Marwon built a fire and prepared the animals for roasting, quickly and skilfully, while he talked. "Merlin, let me get one thing straight: I loved and respected my father, very much, but, as you surely remember from another not altogether uncomplicated father-son-relationship, a father's persuasions and principles aren't always necessarily his son's."

"_Rip._" Marwon skinned the first rabbit with one, resolved pull.

"In my case" he continued "this painful contradiction between my love for my father and my individual appetite led me into the predicament of eating what I do not like and forgoing what I do like, during all my life until I left my people."

He rubbed salt he took from his bag pack into the meat of the first animal after he'd cut off the head and done away with the bowels, all the while talking on."I have eaten salad, beets, fruit, leaves until I thought they would come back through my ears. Some of them made me sick, but no one gave a damn."

"_Rip_" the second fur went where the first had gone, as much as head, tail and intestines.

"I have listened to discussions about the legitimacy of plucking fruit from a tree or waiting until they fall down on their own before we have a right to eat them" Marwon went on. "I tried to contribute by voicing my doubts that the fruit actually cared. It did not make me very popular and I learned to shut up and nod in all the proper places. When I grew into a man that made me sick too, but, guess what? Nobody cared about that either."

Nobody could think that Marwon Arenboarth's son was a changeling, but for one thing: His magic wasn't that of a Druid but it sure had once been meant for a kitchen fairy. In almost no time at all he had the rabbits roasting and turning over the fire. A delicious smell spread on the small clearing, especially as the animals had been stuffed with most of the herbs – so much for the salad theory – and the minced roots. The fat from the unfortunate rodents dripped into a small cooking bowl, filled with water, the rest of the vegetables and the best parts of the chicken.

Fleetingly Merlin thought that Arthur would turn green with envy about the Druid's hunting skills. He would have wanted to say so to Marwon, but he had no chance to put in a single word.

"Since we left my tribe" the Druid continued, never taking his eyes from their dinner "I have had no real appetite for salad, if you follow my drift. I've lived, for the first time ever, by what _I_ like, and what _I_ think. I've begun to appreciate what _I_ find wise or right and to shun what I find stupid, intolerant or narrow-minded."

Marwon looked at the slowly roasting rabbits with a loving eye. "You do not believe me? You think all Druids are born angels? Well, let me tell you that bullies do come in all disguises. Take, for example, the understanding bully. '_Oh, Marwon, I appreciate you speaking your mind like that. It's such a sign of even __you slowly maturing from the insensible, irresponsible person you've always been. Just a pity that you cannot say something really constructive so far_.' Or the conscientious bully. _'Marwon, it grieves me to see how negligent I must have been of my duties to teach you what's right and what's wrong. Obviously you do not have a conscience at all. It makes me so very sad, I don't know if I'll ever be happy again.' _

"Which" Marwon continued with a sarcastic grin "was illogical. If I did not have a conscience, why manipulate me by playing on it? A week it weighed me down, her unhappy looks whenever she saw me, her face, long as a fiddle. After that, I figured it out. I told my father, and he had me punished for disobedience and lack of due respect for my teacher."

Merlin pondered to say something soothing, for every time Marwon's feelings won the better of him, the fire raged up and threatened to spoil the food. However, it always stopped in the very last moment and so Merlin decided to stay quiet.

The Druid, on the other hand, was in full swing. "There is also my favourite" he snapped at the chicken soup. "The compassionate bully. '_Oh, Marwon, look at little Caddy. You've made her so very sad. She has been looking forward to this discussion, she wants to be part of us, and you spoilt it for her. What do you say, children, should Marwon apologize to Caddy for speaking out like he did? YEEEEEES."_

The Druid looked up briefly and met Merlin's gaze across the fire with a mirthless grin. "Of course Marwon should apologize. Marwon should always apologize. To Caddy, who had the intelligence of a headless worm or to Toddy whose brain had the size of a nutshell or, most of all..."

"To your father" Merlin finished the sentence for him.

Marwon blushed a deep purple. "Don't get me wrong, Merlin. My father was a great man. I've said so to Gaius and it's true. But, you know, sometimes, just once in a while..."

"It would have been nice to see him on your side for a change" Merlin second guessed the rest of it once more.

The Druid shrugged uncomfortably. "He never was. I suppose, he couldn't risk it. He was our leader, you know. He couldn't go against everything my people believe in. It would have antagonized the elders, and the others." He grinned ruefully. "Reminds you of somebody?"

Merlin just nodded. Indeed, it did. He'd heard and seen it all before.

Marwon got up and turned his back on Merlin. His fingers, so much stronger than they looked, played with a twig he'd picked up until it broke with an audible snap. "Fact is" he said angrily "I'm not a Druid any more, if I ever was one." He hesitated before he continued "When all this is over, when you're back home in Camelot, ... do you think Arthur could find a place for us there? For me, Agneta and our son?"

Merlin withdrew a step or two in shock. "Wow, Marwon, slowly now. If this is about eating rabbit meat every once in a while, I'm sure there are other solutions for that..."

"This is not about rabbit meat" Marwon shouted. "This is my life I'm talking about. Did your Arthur never complain of the strain his position put on him? Did he not quarrel with his father, did he not wish he'd been born somebody else?"

"Yes he did" Merlin retorted punitively. "But he shouldered his responsibilities in the end. Always!"

"Until he put his responsibility for you before his duty to his father and it earned him a ticket to Blackrock's torture chamber! What about _your_ responsibility for _him_, back then?"

Merlin was about to grab the other by the collar and give him a good, old-fashioned thrashing – not that he'd stood a chance against the by now seasoned warrior in physical combat, but things like probability were far from the warlock's mind right now – when he remembered what Arthur had suffered during his captivity in Blackrock. All this had come from Merlin's idiotic decision to abandon his Prince at the lakeside instead of waiting for him there, as he had been told to do.

All fight left the warlock. "I guess we're both not good at shouldering our responsibilities, you and I" he admitted hoarsely. "On occasions."

"So its decided then" Marwon said confidently. "As soon as Gaius has sufficiently recovered, we'll go back to Cendred's castle, bring things in order and then you'll talk to Arthur about me! I think I can do no good as a Druid, but I can do a lot of good in Camelot."

"Like helping me shoulder my responsibilities for the royal prat?" Merlin asked.

The warlock forgot his anger from a moment ago. He wanted to smile, rather. It would be fun to have this man around. Another peasant among the aristocrats, another pair of watchful eyes for royalty's always endangered back. And, after what he'd said about the things _behind_ the Druids' famous unity of mind and opinion, Marwon's antipathy against resuming his role as their leader didn't look so cowardly.

It didn't always take a blade to hurt a heart. Sometimes, words could be so much sharper. The scars went just as deep.

And didn't Merlin/Emrys know what it meant to be a misfit amongst one's own people?

"You think I'm not deserving of the job?" Marwon now said, clearly hurt by the other's apparent amusement.

"Who am I to argue with the great Marwon, warrior of warriors, and the upcoming star of Camelot's chivalry?" Merlin retorted. "It's just a pity that we have to find Arthur and the Book of Demons first. Or so you said?"

Marwon flinched in anticipation. He had definitely come to like playing the hero. Besides, the sooner they got their job done, the sooner he and his family could leave the Druid village for good and start their new life. "You know where it is?"

"_No_" Merlin wanted to say but just this instance he realized that it wasn't true. He knew exactly who had taken the Rashnijaan. In fact, it was the only thing he _did_ remember from the last six months, eight days and meanwhile more than one hour.

"Count Antek has it" he told Marwon. "When we were trying to escape from Markentower, Antek went back to the cellar for the damned thing, hid it under his shirt. Arthur couldn't see it, he was in the lead, with Gwen directly behind him. Morgyan had seen Antek run away and come back, of course. She never took her eyes off him. I was the last in the row, Antek passed me by on his way upstairs, to Arthur. I sensed the accursed Book's presence, without thinking I reached out and touched the thing, through his shirt and all. Next second I was out as a light. When I came to... or thought I'd come to..."

"Your spirit was caught inside the Rashnijaan" Marwon said. "Gaius and I found you, or rather your body, in a corner of the Cymbrians' headquarters in Markentower. You were unconscious and could not be roused. I started negotiating your release..."

"You? What did Gaius do? Usually it's him who sweet-talks his way out of tight spots."

"He couldn't sweet-talk right then, and his barking would only have complicated matters..."

"Barking?"

"Would you stop interrupting me? It's not very polite."

"Sorry!" Merlin raised his hands in surrender.

Marwon cleared his throat irritably. "Where was I? Oh yes, I negotiated your release, quite successfully, if I say so myself. There was only one soldier, a notorious drunkard, who thought you belonged to him. I challenged him, defeated him and..., well the others did not miss him much and off we went, with you on a cart I'd borrowed from the stables..."

"Wait, wait, wait" Merlin interrupted. "You mean you killed a man in sword combat and then you stole a cart right from under their noses?"

"Does that recommend me for guard duty in Camelot?"

"If I were you I'd be silent about the cart, but the dead man – the best recommendation ever!" Merlin said, and he meant every word.

After that, Marwon regained his old, joyful mood completely, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his soul.

Together Druid and warlock finished two rabbits, one chicken soup, all the vegetables and the bread Marwon had brought from home. When Gaius woke up, he bitterly complained of the empty bowls and plates, but there was no helping it. He had to wait until they reached their cottage by nightfall before he could have some dried fish and some badly mistreated strawberries.

When they all went to bed, intending an early start in the morning for the long way to Cendred's castle, Gaius couldn't restrain himself. Stealthily he got up again and sneaked to Merlin's bed.

The warlock pretended to be fast asleep until Gaius had finally looked his fill. It was difficult, especially when the old man fetched another blanket and tucked his ward in. But Merlin managed somehow. A last, gentle pat on the head and Gaius retired.

The warlock waited until he could be sure that Gaius had really gone back to bed before he elbowed Marwon, who had put up his bed by Merlin's side for some unknown reason of his own.

"What is it?" the Druid asked sleepily.

"Don't you dare forget, when we're in Camelot, that I'm the Crown Prince's manservant. _I_ wash his socks. Don't you touch them!"

"I'm allergic to soap" Marwon answered. "And I can't do menial tasks. I'm a Lord Druid's son, I have a station in life!"

"You and Arthur" Merlin hissed, "you two have an awful lot in common. You're both inconsiderate, arrogant prats."

"And here I was" Marwon giggled "thinking that the great Emrys would never find that out!"


	31. The savage

**31 The savage**

Next morning, before dawn even, Merlin's jesting and chuckling from last evening was forgotten.

He could no longer stay in bed. The feeling of urgency had come back to him in the quiet of the night and it hadn't left him.

The warlock was restless, his magic itself was restless and he wouldn't find peace before he saw the walls of Camelot and knew that everything was all right. He pressed and goaded the others until they had bundled together what they could grab in all haste and the first rays of sunlight found the three men on their way. A handwritten note on the door told the townspeople that their healer and favourite warrior-to-let had to tend to some business elsewhere.

The ship they took way up north had a fair wind and a fast passage, with Merlin's magic helping things along further, more or less discreetly. If the skipper suspected something of the unnaturally good sailing weather, he had the wisdom to keep his mouth shut.

They made their landfall in a well-known Welsh harbour, roughly two weeks from Camelot. It was as close as they could come by sea.

By the time they left the harbour on horseback, Merlin was the scare and fright of everyone who saw him. Without much talking the three had agreed that Merlin should pose as their leader, which, by the style of their journey, required the warlock to pose as a noble man and knight.

They had acquired or magically conjured the necessary fittings and equipment and the warlock had undergone a somewhat frightening change. Ghostly pale, haggard, in knight's clothes all black in black, with neither word nor smile for anyone around him and for the first time in his life wrapped in the arrogance of absolute power, Merlin took command.

Secretly, Gaius was taken aback. So the impression he'd won on entering Merlin's inner world had not been deceiving. The lanky, light-hearted boy from years ago had somehow grown into a man with rough edges – including haughtiness, complete self-reliance and a demand for obedience when the situation called for it.

In the latter, Merlin just copied Arthur's behaviour. But he did so with a chilling naturalness that gave a glimpse into what Emrys might become in the future.

The warlock pressed on mercilessly and still it was too slow for him. He didn't hold back, and he didn't allow the others to slow down. His magic was palpable around him and for once it didn't feel friendly.

Where ever they went, folks kept their distance.

In truth Merlin was obsessed by a strangling fear but people who met him took his cold manner for arrogance, the more so as the young black knight snapped at his two subservient companions any time they approached him. Nobody but Gaius perceived that Merlin himself could not explain what was the matter with him.

To make a bad thing worse, the warlock's fright was quite contagious. Marwon was continuously on edge and Gaius, still a bit weakened from his ordeal and the rough journey, could hardly keep up the brutal pace, but did not complain. The urgency of pressing on and on was foremost on his mind, as much as on Merlin's.

Finally they stood at the crossway where the road to Camelot and the road that would finally lead to Cendred's last known residence did meet.

There they came to a dead halt.

Merlin found he was not able to go on. He could not make up his mind which turn to take. He rejected Marwon's suggestion, abusively, to split up. Gaius' proposal to go to Camelot met with the same fate. Merlin himself gave the order to go to Cendred's borderland stronghold, only to rein in his horse after two steps.

Gaius laid his hand on the younger wizard's shoulder. "Let's rest, Merlin. We're out of our minds with fatigue. This is leading nowhere."

The warlock opened his mouth to yell at him, but he found he was lost for words. Helplessly he shrugged and nodded. "Gaius, I..."

"I know, my boy" the healer replied softy. "I know. I feel it too."

Neither of them had much fun in making camp. They nibbled listlessly at some cold meat and finally laid down for some sleep that didn't come.

Merlin rose quickly. "I'll take the first watch" he said, and before the others could hinder him, he vanished in the brushwood.

On Gaius' request, Marwon let Merlin go alone, to fight his own demons.

"What will happen, Gaius?" the Druid asked, anguished by a feeling of upcoming doom. "He's not himself, I hardly know him any more. Is it the Rashnijaan or does he know something he doesn't tell us?"

"Perhaps a little bit of both" the healer said. "Something is definitely wrong, but he wouldn't tell me more than he told you – nothing. My best guess is... something's happened to Arthur. Merlin wouldn't exactly _know_, but he would feel it. They're... bound to each other, prince and warlock. Two halves of the same coin. The one always feels the other's woe, no matter how far they're apart."

"And yet" Marwon said hesitantly "you told me that Emrys... didn't want to come back. From his self-made paradise. Not even for Arthur."

Gaius looked at the spot where Merlin had vanished. "No'" he said, quietly under his breath. "He didn't. He was hurt, weak and most of all he was... jealous. Now he feels that he may have waited too long, that he may have forsaken Arthur in the worst possible moment and I think it's driving him mad."

Marwon didn't look very reassured. "You think... he's right? Arthur's in trouble?"

Whatever Gaius had wanted to answer no one would ever know.

Marwon was momentarily paralysed with shock when all of a sudden a dark, huge figure broke from the brushwood in Gaius' back. Howling madly the man – or beast – threw himself on the healer and closed both claws around the old man's neck.

Gaius gasped desperately and Marwon's warrior instincts kicked in.

The Druid unsheathed his blade and attacked the intruder. However, the Druid faith was stronger than Marwon wanted to admit. Before he used his sword, he'd always try to scare an attacker off. As warning shouts did nothing to stop the creature, Marwon tried to drag him away from Gaius, whose struggling became weaker by the second.

The attacker fought back with the strength of a lunatic beyond all reason and control. It was as if Marwon was a small child, fighting a giant. The man's legs kicked viciously and the Druid was hit in the stomach with enough force to go flying.

Thrown back, Marwon lost hold of his blade, and it was hurled from his hand into the shrubs. He had no time to go after it, as the intruder was visibly resolved to break Gaius' neck any second.

The Druid approached his enemy from behind, jumped on his back and tried to loosen the grip on Gaius' throat, with no success.

Wild with fear and rage, his heart pumping hot fire through his veins, Marwon pulled his small hunting knife and cut and stabbed into the murderous hands wherever he could. In desperation he even bit the attacker in the face.

Again the Druid was thrown back. He hit the ground, hard, was winded and for a few precious moments he wasn't able to get up. His sight was blurred and in his ears a peculiar echo rang, like that of a thunderstorm nearby.

Marwon struggled to come back to his feet; as soon as he could crawl he tried once more to free Gaius, who was by now barely conscious. As loud as he could the Druid screamed Merlin's name, again and again.

When, out of the blue, a second pair of hands appeared on the attacker's shoulders, hands gloved in black iron, Marwon thought that he had won. As long as Emry's powers were by his side, nothing could go wrong. With renewed strength the Druid punched his enemy wherever he could hit him, to drive him away from his victim.

When the black gloved hand reached out for a plunge, Marwon thought that this would be it, that the fight would be over.

And it _was_ over. The big, black iron fist hit the Druid's chin with brutal force. Marwon stumbled back, fell to his knees. The last thing he saw before all things went dark was the first attacker bending over Gaius with bared teeth, like an animal ready for the kill, while the knight in black stood behind him, doing nothing.

The Druid lost consciousness with one thought imperious in his mind, how very right he'd been to feel that doom was all around them.

When he came to, after what must have been ages, the feeling was still with him. His head hurt, he tasted bile and blood on his tongue and his whole body felt like one big bruise, from head to toe.

Cautiously, Marwon moved his fingers and toes.

To his tremendous surprise, he was neither bound nor gagged. He strained his ears while he kept his eyes closed. Warm, soft covers, beneath and above him. Someone had even taken the trouble to dress his worst injuries. Then they – whoever 'they' were – had brought him to his small tent and left him there.

For whatever reason they'd done that, they'd live to regret it. They'd murdered an old, helpless man who'd been Marwon's friend and that left no room for pacifism. They would not live to boast of it.

Quickly – or what, in his present condition qualified as 'quick' - but silently the Druid slipped out of the tent by the backside. He sneaked around the tent, taking care to make the best of the cover it gave him.

A bundle that had to be Gaius' corpse lay by the camp fire. The man – beast! - that had murdered him sat by his victim's side, softly moaning, rocking to and fro on his heels.

The knight in black sat on the other side, with his back to Marwon, apparently lost in thought. He seemed to be quite elderly, his hair was grey, unkempt, and obviously caked in dirt. Remnants of a cloak or coat partly covered the badly battered chain mail, that was, Marwon noticed it even under these dire circumstances with an expert's fond eye, of high quality. Stolen, no doubt. Who knew which unsuspecting knight had lost his life in an ambush to equip this scoundrel with that kind of armoury. The coat had also seen better days. Underneath all the dirt and baked on black mud a rim of radiant red velvet could still be seen where the sun's glare hit the material.

The rascal knight, if he was a knight at all, seemed a bit smaller than the night before. And more slender, especially at the shoulders. All in all he looked tired, worn out.

Not at all like a happy, triumphant victor.

But then, who might grasp what goes on in a criminal's head.

Besides, Marwon had other things to occupy his mind. It came to him as an icy shock that Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

So these two monsters had killed Emrys, too!

Marwon, still suffering from the aftermath of the lost battle, could not think straight. He was at the same time seething with rage, fighting the tears of grief that stung in his eyes and trying to suppress the hopeless thought that all was lost and that he might as well lie down and die.

But he would not go down alone!

With two big steps he was by the knight's side, grabbed the surprised man in a strangling grip, pulled the man's own knife from his belt, dragged the villain's head back and went directly for the exposed throat.

"Marwon, for the Gods' sake, what are you doing?" Merlin's strained voice in his back, and in the blink of an eye the knife's handle was red hot in his hand.

With a yelp, the Druid let go of the weapon and fell back, away from the knight, who now turned, the terror of the sneak attack still eminent in the dirt smeared face.

Underneath the smear and dust, the finely chiselled features of a woman. Turquoise eyes. A strand of gold blond locks had slipped out of the frayed, tattered dark grey wool cap which from behind had looked like a grubby mane of hair. Marwon recognised her at once and his lower jaw hung open.

The creature by the fire now also lifted his head and looked at Marwon, who was frozen into place by surprise as well as by Merlin's restraining hands. Something like a rest of intelligence was in the creature's expression. And wariness. The savage pondered coming to his partner's rescue, that much was obvious. "Stay where you are, Ceddy" the knight – no, the woman – said. And the wild man obeyed her instantaneously. He resumed staring into the fire, still rocking on his heels.

"I'm not saying I'm sorry about last night" the woman now addressed Marwon. "You were about to kill my brother. I do not take kindly to that!"

"But... but..." Marwon stammered. "What about Gaius?"

"He's fine" Merlin said from behind. "He's at the river behind those trees, cleaning himself up. My Lady, please explain the situation to our friend. I have to talk to Gaius!"

The warlock turned and just walked away, sure that his command would be obeyed.

"Look at him, the great saviour" the woman said sarcastically. "You should have heard how highly they all think of him, the people of Camelot. As if he were a kind of saint. If Merlin were here, this had never happened. If Merlin this, if Merlin that. And when Arthur found out what Antek had done..." She laughed, an angry, hateful huff. "One might have thought Count Llanfair had murdered a King instead of accidentally brushed off a former manservant."

She shook her head in mocked bewilderment. "Must be great, to be that popular. If one friend is lost, the great Merlin has always another to busy and distract himself with. Must be a convenient thing, to love so many people. I never could. I loved but two people in this world and I lost them on one single day."

Marwon didn't even begin to get the gist of that talk. "Would you please tell me what you are doing here, Mylady? Is this a fitting place and rig-out for the Princess Royal of Cymbria? Or for her brother the King?" An accusing hand pointed at the savage by the fire in his tattered rags.

"One" Morgyan answered, still with the same, cold bitterness, "I'm not a Princess any more. Second, my brother is no longer a King. What's left of Cymbria is occupied by Camelot's troops, with Uther doubtlessly roaming the ransacked castle grounds at night, crying out for his lost son and family. Let's just hope that the robbing of our land and people can bring some peace to a Kingly father so deeply grieved! It's more than can be said of my brother since my nephew Gyrrin was slaughtered before his very eyes!"

"Who did... Camelot?" Marwon asked, still not understanding anything.

"No, my dear Druid friend" Morgyan said, with false courtesy, "_your_ people. Three weeks ago your dearest wife, the gentle Agneta, led your tribe against my brother's castle at night and laid wreck and ruin to it, up to the very last stone. Just like your precious Merlin once did to Blackrock Castle!"

Morgyan's voice had become louder and louder with every new sentence, and she was now panting with rage. "But unlike gentle and oh so kind-hearted Merlin, your bloody harlot spared no one, no child, no servant, no one. Burned alive my nephew was, before my brother's eyes who couldn't help him; stuck under a fallen beam was our young Gyrrin, he _screamed_ himself to death when the beam caught fire!"

Marwon felt it like a slap in the face when she laughed again. "It stands to reason if that drove my brother over the edge or the fact that your dear wife took Antek and Arthur's wife and child. Uther and his knights used our confusion and ran like hares but two weeks later they came back, with Camelot's army."

The Princess sneered openly at the Druid's dumbfounded face. "The unfortunate King of Camelot had not wasted time in search for his daughter-in-law or grandchild. He stood before _our_ walls, while my brother was still on his sickbed, and demanded the release of his son and heir, Prince Arthur of Camelot. As if any castle, whole or broken, could have kept Arthur after his family had been abducted! Even before his father escaped, Arthur and Leon went out, to rescue Antek, Gwen and the child. After that, we never heard of him again!"

"Let me guess: Uther didn't believe you" Marwon spat, his hand on his belt. "As I do not believe you. My people, my wife, would never do a thing like that! You're lying. Or you're mad. I don't care which. Just take your freaked out brother and _get_ lost, before I forget myself!"

"If you want to attack me, go on" Morgyan replied heatedly. "But you might want to remember that your sword is not at your belt presently!"

"I do not need a sword to shut your lying trap!"

"I would love to see you try!"

"Hold it, both of you" Merlin commanded as he came back, Gaius panting behind him as he had run towards them as fast as possible. Stealthily the healer rubbed his aching knees and tried to breathe evenly. He was growing too old for this kind of exercise.

"Merlin" protested the Druid "you cannot believe what she's said, it can't be true..."

"Shut up, Marwon."

Merlin's eyes flashed gold and Morgyan jerked when, behind Merlin's back, the camp unravelled itself and bundled up on the horses in the blink of an eye. She wasn't used to magic acting openly. But she hadn't been Morgyan of Cymbria had she not tried to stand her ground. "I'm not taking orders from you, _servant._"

"For the time being, you will" Merlin sternly retorted. "We don't have time for petty quarrels. We must find Arthur and the Druids. Gaius will go to see Uther and tell him we will clear this mess up. Marwon, Morgyan, you and your brother are with me!"

"My brother and I have no need for a treacherous Druid and an upstart peasant boy!" Morgyan said coldly.

Merlin bowed his head in a parody of respect. "Princess, if you're going to develop some dark magic of your own, by all means, proceed alone. If you don't – well, it's not as if the Cymbrian throne is still in need of an heir. It'll fall to Uther anyway after you've been killed."

Morgyan turned her back on him and from now on concentrated on her brother and on getting ready for a long ride.

But when they were ready to depart, after Marwon had had a few more heated words with Merlin that achieved exactly nothing, the Cymbrians had taken their horses from their hiding place and were ready to follow Merlin and Marwon into the woods.

Although the warlock was fidgeting in the saddle with nervousness, Gaius took the time to say good-bye to Merlin. "I'll do my best to dissuade Uther from doing anything final in Cymbria. Wish me luck. You know the man."

Merlin nodded. Suddenly his cold demeanour slipped and he hugged his old friend fiercely. "Wish me luck too, Gaius. I haven't got much time."

"You have Arthur's ring now. Use the spell I told you about and it will lead you to him."

"And then, what?"

"You'll know what to do" Gaius replied gently. "I've told you everything I know. Besides - you are Emrys."

"Did I ever tell you that I can't stand this stupid sentence?"

"Not with so many words. Goodbye, my boy. Take care."

"You too, old man. There may be other freaked out royals thirsting for your blood because you once crossed them."

Gaius chuckled and his voice trailed after him when he left. "No need to remind me. I know I drove many Kings mad in my time and one especially. I'll see you all in Camelot."

"_Camelot_" Merlin thought when he and his group rode on to wherever the ring Arthur had given to Morgyan in the very last moment before he'd left the Cymbrian stronghold would lead them. "_Four days from now, the new moon will decide if any of us will ever m__ake it back to Camelot_."


	32. Arthur's sacrifice

**32. Arthur's sacrifice**

Merlin crawled cautiously towards the slope, closely followed by Marwon. Lying flat on their bellies side by side, they peeped down at the makeshift camp in the glen some ten metres beneath them.

"I don't believe it" Marwon hissed through gritted teeth.

"Say this _one_ more time" Merlin growled back under his breath "and I'm no longer responsible for my actions!"

"But you must admit…."

"_No_! I must see what's going on down there. Now BE Quiet!"

Marwon choked on the reprimand, Merlin could see his throat bop up and down.

However, the warlock's sympathy for the Druid, for _any _Druid, was at an all-time low.

Three days, _more than _three miserable days, cold and wet and hungry; under constant quarrelling between Morgyan and Marwon – in fact between Morgyan and anybody else except her brother who never spoke anyway – had cost the already aggravated and fearful sorcerer the last of his usually strong nerves.

Less than 12 hours left until the New Moon Gaius had warned him about and Merlin had as much an idea of what to do as he had from the start – none at all.

To make matters worse, Merlin now saw what and whom he'd dreaded to see – Arthur and Leon, guarded by half a dozen Druids, being marched from one of the wooden shelters to another.

Arthur's head hung low, his steps were tired. He walked as if dreaming. Only that it wasn't a very good dream. Leon was obviously talking to him, frantically, his hands flying through the air constantly. But even from his watch-post Merlin could see that Arthur wasn't listening.

The warlock winced at the sight, and bit his lip.

This did not bode well.

"_So what of it?_" Merlin tried to lift his own spirit. "_Quite normal, isn't it? The royal idiot gets his fingers burned, and his loyal manservant can make thing__s right, as always_!"

So much for the warlock's hopes that the Prince might be of help in the upcoming struggle. Not that these hopes had been more than feeble to begin with.

Naturally His gallant, dashing, foolhardy Royal Highness would get himself caught at the first possible opportunity. Naturally his faithful knight, never far away from his Lord's side, would do exactly the same.

Damned dim-witted, stumbling, half baked, hare-brained … _clotpoles_!

Frankly, Merlin had to admit that he was at his wits' end.

Gwen, the child, Arthur, Leon – the list of those to be rescued, if possible unbeknownst to the fifty or more very alert looking Druids that roamed the glen, grew longer and longer.

And there was Antek, for a cherry on the cake.

Oh, for sure, one could leave the bastard behind, served him right for all the trouble his greed had cost, but, no, of course not, as Merlin knew his Prince, the prat would insist on delivering bloody asshole-count Llanfair from the mess he'd brought himself in, no matter what.

Now what? Who was where? And, how was an unfortunate peasant boy, who, by a cruel, evil joke of Mother Nature had been born with too much magic for his own good, supposed to find out?

Merlin caught himself thinking wistfully of King Uther, would one believe it.

If the kingly idiot were here, he'd just say: "_Lay waste to that camp and bring me my son_" and, at nightfall, they'd all sit merrily around the campfire and have supper.

Well, those who'd survived the lunatic attack against a camp full of magicians.

Naturally, Merlin could just walk into that glen; talk some sense into Agneta, and, by nightfall… oh happy world, in which things could be _that _easy. "_The time is out of joint_" Merlin thought miserably; "_O cursed spite! / That ever I was born to set it right_."

Actually, he liked that phrase, it sounded good in his mind, like music. Who knew, maybe someday a poet would use it for one of his pieces.

However, _to_day, it wasn't of much help.

"I don't believe it" Marwon said.

Merlin closed his eyes and counted to five.

"I just don't _bel__ieve_ it!" Marwon repeated.

Before Merlin could do or say anything, the Druid rose to his full height, and began the climb downhill. In broad daylight. In full sight of the other Druids.

Merlin groaned only inwardly before he let his head fall into the soft forest ground and silently cried for mercy, mercy, _MERCY_.

"Rest assured, Merlin" Marwon yelled at the very top of his voice when he was halfway down and the first group of Druid guards made haste to intercept, "I'll talk some sense into her, I will! She _i__s_ my wife, damn it!"

After that, Merlin didn't see much sense in struggling when the Druids came to arrest him.

Morgyan and her brother had different views on that, however. Cendred's sister only surrendered when her brother was disarmed by magic.

As a result, when brought before Agneta, they all were a trifle sore, one way or the other.

Sore and – surprised.

Morgyan to see the Druids treat her still quarrelsome brother with all possible compassion.

Merlin to see Mirella standing behind her sister-in-law, her face a pale and sad mask.

And Marwon to see his own wife completely ignoring him.

Nevertheless, Arenboarth's son straightened his back as best he could and commenced speaking, meaning to deliver the most severe talking-to in all his married days: "Agneta, my love….".

"Shut up!" she snarled.

"But my sweet… I must tell you…"

"What? You must tell me _what_? Where you have been all this time? Why you have left me, our son, your sister, anyone? How you've been out somewhere, playing the gallant warrior, while we were left to fend for ourselves? Is that what you came to tell me? _**Husband**_?"

Merlin looked to his feet.

Morgyan was wide-eyed and clearly unsure of what to think, unsure enough to let the protest she had been about to make die on her lips.

Cendred, poor, mad, deranged Cendred, looked at Agneta's flushed face and shining eyes with a strange kind of sympathy.

Each decided that it wasn't his or her time to speak. Not until those two were finished.

"What were you thinking, woman?" Marwon meanwhile thundered. "Burning and killing the Cymbrians like a mad wolverine? Is that the way of our people?"

"What do _you_ know about our people?" she shouted back at him. "Your father taught _me_ all about it. You never listened."

"And what have the Pendragons to do with anything?" Marwon heatedly demanded to know. "To abduct Arthur's family – are you mad, _woman_?"

"Ask him" Agneta pointed accusingly at Merlin. "No doubt the great Emrys knows what he has allowed to happen. What abomination has come into our world, because he wasn't on his guard."

Like one man, everybody turned to stare at the warlock, who was aghast at the unwanted attention.

In this second, Merlin wanted nothing more but to fade into nothingness.

During the last days, after Gaius had told him about his suspicions as to the reasons for the Druids' strange behaviour, Merlin's memory had, bit by bit, revealed what had been buried deep within him.

The memory of what he had seen inside the Rashnijaan's spirit world, before Gaius had dragged him away from his doom.

There had been another shadow that had created his own bridge of light, using a living, tortured soul to make his way; his escape from the Book of Demons back to the world of the living – and now Merlin knew whom _that_ had been!

"You've found him" he said hoarsely. "You've found Anwar of Llanfair! And it's not Arthur who's carrying him. Not this time."

"No!" It was Mirella who told him, softly and her absent gaze went right through him. "The evil one has taken a child. He's taken Arthur's son!"

"Tonight" Agneta added, her voice as sharp and hard as a blade "we'll sent the evil one back to the hell from which he came. Tonight ….. Arthur's child will die."

Morgyan drew a sharp breath through her teeth, Marwon was visibly dumbfounded, the other Druids averted their gaze, shy and guiltily.

Cendred shook his head, moaned and mumbled under his breath. Only he would know what he was saying, or to whom.

Merlin looked at Agneta and for the first time since he'd come here, he saw the lines in her face, the anguish and the disgust, in fact the utter horror she felt at her own deeds. A Druid, perhaps the most convinced of the firm believers, and yet she had smeared her hands with blood. And more blood was to follow, before long. Blood that doubtlessly would come upon her, her tribe, her children …. perhaps upon every magician in Albion.

Neither Uther nor his son would spare anyone in their thirst for revenge.

"There will be a renewal of the Great Purge" a distraught warlock pleaded with Mirella. "This time there will be no amends, no peace treaty – our great dream of a united Albion where magic has its place – it will die with the child. There must be another way."

"There is not" Agneta interjected. "And there's an end to it!"

Mirella added "Arthur said the same thing when I told him. He spoke of you a lot. If Merlin were here….., but I'm sure there's nothing you could do, Emrys. You cannot even touch the Rashnijaan!"

"What about Antek?" Morgyan blurted out her heart's anxiety. "You can't blame him, he did not know what this …. thing was, he thought it valuable, nothing more!"

"We blame nobody" Agneta answered, and her fight had clearly left her, "the evil must be taken from the world of the living before the Great Dragon is to be called, as only he can destroy the Book of Demons, once and for all. That, Emrys, is your task in this. Everything else, you'll leave to me."

"You can't" Marwon exclaimed. "You cannot – the mere thought is monstrous. A _child_, Agneta, a baby, not older than our own son. With your own hands you held him, you nourished him; how can you even think of harming him!"

"Because, if we all are cowards, the world will end. Through the Demon Child the Rashnijaan will consume all Albion, don't you remember _anything _from your father's lectures? It is for our son, for _my_ son, that I am doing it!"

"It's a book, my love, just a book…."

"Tempered in a Demon's blood, written in a Demon's tongue, and it's getting stronger every day, it's getting stronger as we speak. Another year, when the moon will regain this position; and nothing I or anyone could do would harm it!" Again, Agneta pointed at Merlin's torn face. "Ask him, Marwon, ask your precious Emrys! He's been there, I can smell it on him. Go on, _ask_ him!"

Again, they all stared at the warlock, some hopeful, some disgusted, some anxious and not comprehending.

"It's true" Merlin finally said. "I've been there. I know its evil. But how it should consume our world – that beats me. It's superstitious talk, not worth our time, let alone a child's life. I'll call Khilgarrah now, and tonight, the Rashnijaan will cease to exist. I swear it!"

"_There_" Marwon wanted to say. "_You see? Piece of cake for the greatest warlock of all times. And __**I**__ rescued him, __**I**__ brought him here, I'm not always __wrong, not __as __useless__ as you think_!"

But Agneta's husband had no chance to say anything, as someone else raised his voice to be heard over the murmur and frantic shuffling of feet. "Be careful what you swear, Merlin. You're about to commit perjury."

The warlock darted round, because he did not believe his ears.

Nor did he trust his eyes, either.

The man in the door, standing upright and with his head erect, was Arthur Pendragon.

"You have no right to blame Agneta but for what suffering she caused in Cendred's castle" the Prince said. "For anything else, you must blame me. _**I**_ told Mirella to call for the Druids' help!"


	33. Megalomania and deafened ears

**A/N: Hello, everyone. If there still is someone who's reading this ..., sorry much delayed update again. To those who sent me a review, thank you ever so much, I need reviews like fresh air to breathe, and somehow I have a tendency to end up stuck with some rather stale air instead... so, many many thanks from all my heart to those who were kind enough to grant me some gusts of fresh air. This goes especially to Archimedes, to Jammeke, and of course to the reader who's sent me a heart rendering plea for Little Thomas' life. I must admit, everytime when I write about the little one's impending doom, my own eyes become wet and weter, so perhaps not all hope for the child is lost yet. but for now, gruesome events are impossible to stop from happening - or are they? Merlin is after all, still Emrys...**

**So please, do not give up on me and my storiy just yet. Give the Llanfair Heritage another chance. And if you find it in you to bless me with the charity and kindheartedness of the season, you can always do so via the review button ...  
**

**33. Megalomania and deafened ears**

Arthur's words caused a turmoil that wasn't easy to appease.

However, in the end the Druids and their – involuntary – guests respected his wishes and reluctantly cleared the room.

Agneta and Mirella were the last to leave, Mirella not without laying a warm hand on Arthur's arm, meant as a comfort where comfort was hardly possible.

For a short while, they heard Morgyan's and Marwon's voices from the outside, and, for a moment, Morgyan's sharp yelp "Antek!"

Then all was quiet.

Merlin and his Prince were alone.

"I don't believe it" the warlock stammered at long last. "I just don't believe it. How could you…."

"Via Leon, I sent Mirella to Agneta when I realized what … had happened to Thomas" Arthur interrupted, his voice artificially cool and flat. "I had no idea things would get so violent. The Cymbrians couldn't be surprised, they fought like hell, and some Druids remembered they had an unsettled old score, for their dead loved ones from Cendred's assault. Temporarily, Agneta lost control." He grinned mirthlessly. "The Druids are only human after all."

"That's not what I'm asking you, Arthur….."

"The deal had been they take us all" the Prince went on, as if Merlin had not said anything "but I was knocked unconscious, by a spell or something, and when I came to, all was over, Guinivere and Thomas were gone. So was Gyrrin, and Cendred's mind. I took up pursuit, with Leon. Although Agneta did not want me to join them, she yielded in the end."

Arthur shrugged. "Morgyan had her hands full, so I gave her my ring, as prove that I was acting on my own accord. It was obvious that my father wouldn't hesitate to escape first chance he'd get."

Merlin fidgeted, but his instinct urged him to let Arthur tell things in his own way and time. "Uther did" the warlock therefore just confirmed. "Your father came back with an army, and he's been busy conquering Cymbria since then."

"Heavens, no" Arthur muttered.

"… Uther didn't believe a word Morgyan said" Merlin went on. "She gave the ring to me when we met her and Cendred in the woods, Gaius and Marwon and me."

"Gaius and Marwon weren't in Camelot?"

"No, they found me half dead in Markentower." Belatedly Merlin remembered that Arthur couldn't know that. "They brought me to a safe place, far away from Camelot, and nursed me back to health."

"Were you …. very sick?"

Merlin blushed. "Almost died. Took awfully long, to get me back on my feet. I'm sorry Arthur."

"Forget it Merlin. I just left you for dead. I did not check up on you, I did not make sure. I took off to Cendred's castle."

Merlin felt more and more anxious with every passing minute. This man, this …. defeated, self-loathing creature could not be his friend Arthur. "Did the Cymbrians leave you a choice?"

"That's not the point!"

"It's the _only_ point" Merlin snapped, but then he restrained himself. More pressure wouldn't do. "But it doesn't matter. I am _here_ now. We will free Little Thomas from Anwar's curse or spell or whatever it is, and go home. Finally."

The warlock's confidence grew whilst he spoke. Yes, that was how it would be. Piece of cake. All his self-doubts, his anxiety, his self-reproach – forgotten. How he had ever thought to stay in that self-created paradise of his, he did not know. Here was his mission, his purpose in life, and his magic already rose to the task. No Antek, no nothing, Arthur needed _Merlin_, and Merlin would be there.

Destiny fulfilled.

"You can't do it, Merlin. Nobody can."

"Since when do you know the first thing about magic?" the by now hilarious warlock joked.

"The Druids know. Anwar killed my little boy when he took his body. It's Anwar of Llanfair Agneta will sent to hell tonight, not Thomas."

Merlin forgot all his good intentions, his temper flared up. "If that is your way to console your heart, Arthur Pendragon, you're not what I took you for. No hero, no great man, just a coward, like … like a statue of self-pity."

In reflex, the warlock raised his fists, sure that Arthur would attack him, this instant.

He shouldn't have bothered.

The Prince sat down on a table, and put his face in both hands briefly before he spoke; quietly, but with great urgency "when I was told that you're alive, that you've come here…..Merlin, I swear, at first I thought all my troubles were over. I know how powerful you are, but it was _me _who experienced the Di'inshara, _I_ felt Anwar's soul when I killed Alined's body, and _I sensed_ the same presence inside my child."

Merlin's wrath, as always where Arthur was concerned, died as quickly as it had come into life. Especially as the Prince looked as if he was on the brink of collapse. "You survived, I freed you" the warlock eagerly assured Arthur, still irritated, but much softer than before. "I'm going to do the same for your son. It is _that_ easy! Trust me!"

Arthur thought about that, at least that was what it looked like. In truth, he was searching for words to explain the inexplicable – why the most powerful warlock of all times was as powerless as anybody else.

Meanwhile Merlin blabbered on and on, whatever came into his mind, desperate to convince his best friend to leave magical things to magicians, and have a good night's sleep.

Truth be told, this new Arthur scared the former manservant witless. "How can you say that Thomas is already dead" he tried again to make his friend see reason. "We both know, from experience, that the host's mind is suppressed, not eradicated by Anwar's spirit. Once we've driven him out….."

"You _can't_ drive him out!" Arthur yelled, jumping to his feet and darting towards the warlock until Merlin backed off as far as he could. "The Druids tried every possible thing, it's just not feasible."

"I defeated Anwar, you did, who says we can't do it again?"

"The Di'inshara made me Anwar's slave, not his vessel. It's different with Thomas. As long as the Rashnijaan exists, my son's soul is a captive inside the Demons' world. Can't you understand, I want Thomas to find _peace_, it's the only thing I can still do for him!"

"That's bullshit, Arthur. I know what I can do. Why can't you just trust me?"

"You cannot even _touch_ the accursed Book without falling prey to Anwar's power. Agneta is a woman. Now that it has been found, she can do what she wants with Anwar, if the damn thing is near or not. It doesn't afflict her."

"Very well, Your Royal Highness, if you say I'm not a magician but a blundering idiot without any idea of what's going on here – who am I to argue with your superior wisdom!" Merlin said with acid sarcasm. "I'll work, I'll study and one day, very soon, I will know what to do."

Merlin snorted angrily for more emphasis as he continued "just allow me to mention that I defeated Cornelius Sigan, the man who had conquered death, _without_ any preparation!" Conveniently, for the sake of his argument, he 'forgot' to mention Khilgarrah and Gaius.

However, Arthur was not convinced. "You fell like a lump when you first touched the Rashnijaan, you almost died when Antek carried it past you!"

"So I now know what I'm up against, that's all the better. I tell you, I'll find a way."

"There's not enough _time_, Merlin!"

"And why not? Thomas is a baby, but a year old, what can Anwar do, caught in such a body? Nothing! And even if he could, how could he ever be a threat to _all_ of Albion? It doesn't make sense."

"I've seen what the Rashnijaan can do when I saw into Anwar's soul. The Book uses every shred of greed, of selfishness, of lust for power and recognition inside a man; it takes up the end of a thread and unravels your whole being, until you've become a part of it. Every man has his weak spot, and the Rashnijaan _will _find it."

"It couldn't seduce you. Nor me."

"Merlin, I'm a Prince. I'm Uther Pendragons son and heir. You let me be the judge of what a man might do for power and fortune, if he's led to it!"

"By a baby!"

"Agneta says that with every passing month, Anwar's presence in this world grows stronger. We kill my son's body next year, and he'll just take another host. Thomas would've died for nothing! Gods, is it true that _I'm _explaining the magic behind this to _you_?"

"Agneta says, Agneta says, who gives a shit" Merlin sputtered. "With all due respect to the Druids, Sire, I know what I'm doing, too."

As the Prince covered his head with both arms and groaned in frustration, Merlin decided that enough was enough. Resolutely he marched out of the hut, towards another of the shelters that were almost invisible in the falling fog. He'd show the prat what his Court Sorcerer was made of!

His instinct led him, now, that his magic fully knew what he was looking for. He heard indistinct shouting, and frantic footsteps in his back, but he knew they wouldn't reach him, not in time.

He kicked his way through the door and entered the place he had been looking for. And for sure, there he was, kicking his little legs in the air, as happily as the next baby.

The child was alone, in a cot, surrounded by a circle with strange symbols, drawn on the ground by coloured chalk.

Merlin sneered viciously. If that was the best Agneta could come up with – heavens above.

The pentagram's magic licked up his legs like greedy flames when he passed the line, but he knew it wouldn't do him any harm, not to Emrys.

With two long strides, Merlin was at the cot and lifted the little boy from his bed. "Hi, little one" he said softly. "Good to see you again."

The baby smiled back at him.

Outside, Arthur, the first to come near the shelter, ran into his wife. "What's happening" Guinivere screamed. "What's he doing?"

The Prince tried to brush her off, gently; all he wanted was reaching this hut, but – no way.

"You were wrong, Merlin can help our child; he's helping him now, isn't he? Arthur? Arthur!" Gwen clung to him, digging her nails into his arms, her face a grimace, half of despair, half made of hope.

"Guinivere, please, don't….."

From the shelter came a sharp, loud yell of pain and terror.

"Oh Gods" Arthur breathed. Dragging his wife with him, he ran to the hut.

But, deep within, he already knew he'd come too late.


	34. Old men's gossip

**34. Old men's gossip**

"Gaius!" King Uther exclaimed, flabbergasted at the sight of his Court Physician. "Where the hell do you come from?"

As the old healer laboriously dismounted, the King hasted through the wreck and ruin of what once had been a fine stronghold under Cymbrian command.

"Your Majesty" Gaius greeted his master. "I'm glad to see you in good health."

"Stop the blabbering, I want to know where you've been. We found neither hide nor hair of you in Camelot, nor of that devil Marwon! The plague on him and on all these dirty Druid sorcerers. They've abducted my family!"

"Your Grace…."

"I had _need _of you, and you deserted me. With that good-for-nothing ward of yours dead, we unarmed, the Cymbrians as useful as a bunch of dimwit peasants – we were under _attack_, by magic, Gaius! I should hang you from the nearest tree, damn your soul."

"I know, My Lord, I know. If we were to go inside, I could tell you all about it…."

"We can't go inside; you must find my son and grandchild. Why do you think I've kept you on, all these years?"

And Uther turned away, shouting orders left and right, at his servants, soldiers, knights, to get ready for a speedy departure.

Gaius, his knees wobbly from exhaustion, his every bone aching in his seventy year old body after a ride of many an hour in bad weather, made a very last attempt to drill some common sense into his King. "Your Grace, I've got news from your son."

Uther stopped shouting in mid-word, and gawked at the old man. "News? From my son? You?"

"My Lord, let's go inside, and I can tell you everything ….."

"We must not lose a minute. I've been resting far too long, I'm sick of getting rest. You can rest later!"

"For the Gods' sake, Uther, we can't do anything at all. I need food, hot tea and a place by the fire! I'm an old man, I'm sick, I'm tired – do you want to hear my news about Arthur or not?"

Gaius realized that he had been shouting only afterwards.

Publicly shouting at his King.

As if the King of Camelot was a stable-boy.

Uther said nothing. He blinked, opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He fumbled with the hilt of his sword, but let go of it. He grabbed his neckerchief and loosened it, as if he had trouble breathing.

His men, his courtiers and servants around him – Gaius saw pity in their faces, and heart-felt sympathy. Not one of them doubted that the old healer was doomed. A dead man walking.

Gaius was sure of that, too, and in this very moment, he didn't care.

His back hurt, his bottom hurt, his head was dizzy and he was sick to death with Pendragon narrow-mindedness. In other words, being slain by a sword wasn't so very undesirable a fate, compared to standing here in the cold mud until he collapsed.

"Am I to understand" Uther suddenly said; quite casually, as if nothing untoward had happened, "that you are here as a messenger from the Crown Prince of Camelot?"

Well, if a little amendment of the truth was all that it took….."Yes, Your Grace" Gaius said with his last strength, "that is what you are to understand!"

"Then why didn't you say so? Instead you make me standing here in the cold, catching my death. You really are an idiot, Gaius. _**WILBUR**_" Uther shouted at the top of his voice and Gaius thought he'd be blown away, "_**WILBUR!**_ Where is the scoundrel..? Ah, Wilbur, there you are, go get some food, hot tea, a blanket, we must prepare our good healer a place by the fire. Come in, Gaius, come in!"

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to go in to.

A part of the one-time Great Hall still had a roof, everything else was in shambles. It was there that Uther's tent had been put up, and a fire had been built close to it. Inside the tent, coal kettles provided some minimum of warmth and comfort.

They were served with anything Uther had demanded, and then the King chucked everyone out.

While Gaius sipped his hot wine, he took stock of the surroundings.

It was obvious that the main damage to this stronghold had been done, not by Uther's army, but by a magical assault of tremendous force.

The walls, what was left of them, were scorched black. Not one building undamaged, even the heaviest metal-clad gates and doors blown from their angles like so much drift wood, all windows broken, stables, bakery houses, kitchens and work-sheds were down. Only the inner part of the palace had its walls intact.

The Camelot army was mainly camping in the open, like a band of common mercenaries caught by an early winter.

For winter it was, all around the ransacked castle.

The plain was frozen, as was the water of the nearby lake. The winds blew cold and the bit of snow forlornly drifting up and down in the air did nothing to cheer up the dismal scene.

It was by the unnatural winter in the midst of summer that Gaius knew what the attackers' violent magic had done. It had taken all vital energy from this place, leaving only cold, death and hopelessness.

When Uther and his army had come, they must have found a pit full of dead bodies and the survivors scared witless by what they had gone through.

Gaius could easily imagine how Uther had had every stone turned, and turned again, in search for his son, until he had to realize that he would not find him.

The old healer sighed and bent his head. His wasn't an easy assignment and for a moment he contemplated turning round and joining Merlin in his quest to find his Prince.

The King, meanwhile, restrained himself with all his inner strength of will. Waiting until the other was ready to talk.

Gaius looked up and met Uther's eyes.

No, from that fearful plea, no feeling man could run away.

So Gaius tried to pave his way towards the brutal truth as gently as he could. "Prince Arthur did tell you about his fight against King Alined's men in Markentower?"

"Yes, sure" Uther retorted. "We had all the time in the world, after Cendred's men had dragged my son here. Not that I wasn't glad to see him, but – not here."

The King rose, and kicked a nearby trunk in the side, another sign that he, who always wanted to behave like a model of royalty (or, as Merlin used to say, like a royal stick-in-the-mud), was beside himself with grief and fury. "The Cymbrians renewed their silly talk about marriages - I refused; Cendred demanded Arthur for a hostage - I refused; Morgyan confronted her brother about her marriage to Antek – would you believe that? – Cendred refused. Antek was incarcerated; Morgyan threw one tantrum after another when her attempts at being diplomatic did not help her; I told my son to agree to a mock marriage with Morgyan, to save Cendred's face and get us out of here - Arthur refused - and so on and so on, for months on end. It was like a madhouse in here, with me being the only sensible, clear-minded person."

"Goodness gracious me!" Gaius said, with wry humour.

"Yes, you might say that" Uther replied, much invigorated by what he mistook for friendly sympathy. "One night the Druids attacked the castle, like mad wolves. Those filthy sorcerers took my whole family, although at the time I did not know they'd taken Arthur. I escaped, thinking that my son was in the hands of Cendred. I came back, with my army, but – I couldn't find Arthur. Morgyan said he'd gone after the Druids with Leon, but sure that's a lie."

Gaius frowned, which suddenly reminded Uther of the time when Arthur had left the Druid camp without telling anyone. "Arthur wouldn't have abandoned me, not as a prisoner" the King of Camelot added hastily.

"You left _him _to his fate" Gaius said without thinking, only to flinch at his own words.

He had been away too long, had been his own man too long. He'd lost his silken touch in dealing with a Royal.

But, come to think of it – even Royalty should have their ear pulled if their behaviour called for it. _Someone_ had to be up to the task.

And, miraculously, as if he thought the very same, Uther did not unsheathe his blade.

Instead he justified himself, heatedly. "Something had to be done. From where the Cymbrians stood, the Druids are known friends and allies of Camelot. I saw a chance to get the protection of my army as long as Cendred was incapacitated. I had to take it. For Arthur's sake as much as for my own."

"You're right of course. Forgive me, My Lord" Gaius said as soothingly as possible. He had a pretty good idea of how the impatient, rash royal must be seething inside, reporting all this to a man who'd so far told him nothing of interest. It was a sign of the King's anxiety that he should be _that _patient.

"Arthur _did_ go after the Druids with Leon" the healer therefore went on. "I trust he had a very hard time leaving you behind, but you must understand – he had just learned that Antek was responsible for Merlin's … accident, because Count Antek stole the Rashnijaan. That is why the Druids abducted Antek, and the Book of Demons. I do fear, they took Arthur's wife and child for the same reason."

Again, Uther blinked rapidly; a picture of perfect non-comprehension. "What?" he finally barked hoarsely.

Gaius sighed. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace. It has been such a long time, and so much has happened. What exactly _did _Arthur tell you about his time in Markentower?"

"That Alined had him abducted while Arthur, with Antek, the Llanfair healer and, later on, Merlin, was pursuing the Rashnijaan. He's dead, by the way."

"Who?" Gaius asked, confused.

"Merco. Mercator, the old Llanfair healer. He came with the Druids. I saw him die trying to help Gyrrin. Morgyan buried him and her bastard nephew with her own hands. It's a crying shame she has to suffer such. Formidable woman. Escaped, with her mad brother in tow, in spite of the whole of Camelot's army guarding the place. Formidable! Gaius, we're straying from the point."

The old healer finished his wine, and pulled himself together, if not without a wistful thought for the unused food in front of him.

"You won't like my news, Uther" he said. And then, as gently as he possibly could, he told the King all he knew and the deductions he had drawn from that.

Uther was ghostly white and very quiet when Gaius finished.

The old healer thought, and his heart ached for it, that he had never seen the King of Camelot so helpless and distraught. Not since Queen Igraine's burial, anyway.

"You must remember that much from your time with Arenboarth, all these years ago, Uther" Gaius added. "The Rashnijaan is the very incarnation of evil. Neither Camelot nor all of Albion will be save, as long as Anwar's soul is not at rest."

Pendragon said nothing in reply. He stared at something only he could see. Finally his jaw tensed, and Gaius thought he knew that look in the King's eyes, and that it had never bode well.

"Best have it done now, My Lord, and by a stranger's hand" the healer said hastily. "Sooner or later anyone will see that the youngest heir to Camelot's throne is possessed by evil! If _you_ sentenced his son to death, what would become of Arthur?"

Uther jumped to his feet, toppling over chair and table without so much as glancing at the mess he'd caused. "It is Arthur I'm thinking about" he growled. "And for his sake, we can't stay here. I've been hesitating far too long!"

"Sire, there is nothing you or I can do. For all the power of Camelot, this is a quest of magic, not of the sword!"

"Do you expect me to sit here and wait? Wait and see if it pleases a bunch of dirty peasants to give me back my family?"

Gaius crouched a bit under the King's wrath, but he couldn't afford to be silenced. "You'd only make matters worse! The Druids' quarrel is not with Arthur, or your daughter in law. They'll come back to you, and when they do, they'll need you more than ever!"

"I'm Arthur's _father,_ for the Gods' sake!"

"Then _be_ his father, Sire, just this ONCE!"

"Blast it, you old scarecrow, you _ar__e_ a magician. Heaven help me that I'm stuck with you, and that cheeky ward of yours is dead, but you can't have forgotten all tricks of your trade!"

"You've been trying to make me forget them for decades, by pain of death!"

"Now who's uselessly dwelling in the past, old man?"

Gaius closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly. It was no good, quarrelling with Uther Pendragon, never had been. "My Lord, Merlin is alive. He had a close call, a very close call, by Count Antek's foolishness, but he's going after your family as we speak. If anyone can prevent ill fate, it's him."

Uther rubbed his face, then his eyes, with both hands. "Arenboarth said" he muttered, cleared his throat, and repeated "Arenboarth said, when he chided me for the Great Purge, that it was written, centuries ago. Arthur Pendragon, High King of Albion, and his warlock born of legends. Am I to be a footnote, then? In my son's life?"

"You are the King of Camelot, Sire. Whatever Arthur will become in the future, it'll be through you. What Merlin is destined to keep safe - it is _your_ legacy, My Lord, nobody else's."

The King looked his Court Physician I the eye. "I'm to sit tight, you mean. Do nothing. I can't, Gaius. This is Igraine, this is the night of Arthur's birth, all over again. I cannot stay put and do nothing, Gaius, I just CAN'T!"

"You haven't and you won't. Uther Pendragon has conquered another Kingdom to his crown. You conquered Cymbria, and Cymbria is suffering. You took it, now do your duty, go out, and rule it!"

"They can rule themselves for all I care!"

"If only you would let them."

"I mean it."

"No you don't. You never have. You consider absolute power a birth-right. Hundreds, if not thousands you had killed or maimed or incarcerated, for opposing you, and now your men won't fart without permission. As you have sown, so you shall reap. Go out and be the King you say you are!"

"You dare speak to me like that?"

"In my time away from your court, Sire, I developed a new appreciation of the truth. It can be very refreshing."

"If one has the guts to endure it!"

"Indeed, My Lord!"

The lips twitched in Uther's pale face. Perhaps he smiled. "You know, Gaius, I _should_ have hanged you from that tree, ages ago."

"Then who would've saved you from yourself?"

Uther rearranged his coat and sword hilt meticulously. "You can go, Gaius" he then said, very haughtily. "No time for your idle chattering. I have two Kingdoms to rule!"

Gaius bowed deeply when the King passed him by. "Your Majesty!"

Uther pretended that he hadn't heard.


	35. Decisions

**35. Decisions**

On her return to their sleeping place, Mirella found her husband with their little daughter in his arms.

"How is he?" Leon asked at once, but he could read the answer from her face.

"Emrys is bad" Mirella replied. "Unconscious, and we can't rouse him. He's clearly been attacked by the Rashnijaan. When he took the child, he must have touched it, but … what has really happened – not even Agneta knows."

"Merlin? Overlooked the thing? It's impossible he should not have noticed the cursed Book. Not if anyone else knew the child and the Book can no longer be separated."

"Emrys was so confident he could beat it. Maybe he did not care."

"Perhaps … it's temporary" Leon said hopefully. "He may just come to …. when this is over…" the knight broke off, and looked at his own child.

Mirella came to him, and took her baby's little paw. "You know" she mirrored her husband's thoughts "I keep thinking… if it was our child… I couldn't bear it."

"How is Arthur?"

"Quiet. Withdrawn. You know him, Leon. His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Camelot will keep his agony to himself, even if it strangles him."

"And … his wife?"

Mirella looked at him and shook her head. "Don't ask!"

"Maybe I should be with them …" Leon said reluctantly. He held unto his daughter, tightly enough to make her squeak irritably.

"Leave them be, my darling" Mirella told him what she knew he wanted to hear. "They're together, and their grief is their own. Let's just hope that at least Emrys will come through this unscathed. Arthur will need him … afterwards."

"You know, I just can't make up my mind" Leon raised his voice in sudden anger "was it heroic or plain foolish to call for the Druids? If Arthur'd said nothing… kept it secret… Gwen knew something was wrong with her son, but _she_ played blind and deaf."

"Sooner or later Agneta would have learned what was going on" Mirella reminded him sadly. "She's our best magician. The crystals speak to her. My father had her marry Marwon because he hoped his grandchildren might be less of a disappointment to him than my brother."

"Or you, when you married me?"

"The great Arenboarth wasn't very fortunate in both his children. My nephew comes after Agneta! I'm glad the Lord Druid saw his grandson before he died."

"You loved your father very much, Mirella, to forgive him his cold heart."

"Why shouldn't I? My father never forgave himself. Neither my brother nor me could've punished him more severely."

"What about Marwon and Agneta?"

Mirella shrugged, before she once again met her husband's gaze. "My brother has a gift for living in a dream. '_One day my father will acknowledge me, one day my wife will love me, one day I'm going to be happy and content_.' It's not going to happen. But what of it, the ancient line that gave the Isle so many great men will prevail: Marwon has fathered a son. From now on, he can do as he pleases, go where he wants."

"Is that such a good thing? Go where? Do what?"

"You are a knight of Camelot. Your duty, your status, your allegiance to the Pendragons – it is your anchor in life. It makes you the man you are. My brother's strength is of another kind. He'll grieve, yes, and gravely so, but in the end he will be _himself_ and that's all Marwon Arenboarthson will ever need."

Leon shuddered, as if by an icy gust of wind. The Druids always seemed so gentle, so innocent, but sometimes their politics were just as inhuman as those at Uther's court. "And Agneta?"

"She's like you. Her duty and our heritage, she'll always put that first. The Elders have agreed; she's going to be our leader, the first female chieftain in the history of my people."

"I thought they'd blame her for the deaths at the Cymbrian stronghold?"

"They did, but …. they decided a single accident should not deprive her of the fruits of a life's work."

"Gods, the woman is but in her mid-twenties!"

"The Elders will perform the rites of purification for her as soon as this is over."

Leon guffawed sarcastically. "Will they indeed. Must be a world of comfort and reconciliation to the Cymbrians!"

"You do not like Agneta, Leon? She's my sister-in-law!"

"Which implicates that she's supposed to be a wife to your brother. And yet, she's to get everything and Marwon's getting a warm handshake before he's kicked out."

"Not all eyes will weep for my brother. Probably he'll never see his wife and child again, but he's got me, and you, and he makes friends easily. Anyway, he's much better off than Arthur."

"Because Marwon's son is alive?"

"Because Arthur's one and only attempt at being free has cost him everything, and he didn't even get his freedom in the bargain. He'll have to go back to Camelot, slave on in a position he never really wanted, and he'll most probably die alone, if it were not for Emrys."

"I never knew you are in love with the Prince" Leon said, piqued against his better judgement.

"I'm in love with _you_, husband. That doesn't mean I can't admire other men for what they are."

Leon, sensing her growing defiance, decided to let that particular matter rest. "Why do you say Arthur'll die alone? There's his wife."

"You presume their marriage will survive this night. I don't. Would ours?"

Leon looked down on their daughter, and shook his head. "No" he admitted.

It was then that they heard chaos break out once more on their doorstep.

Leon put the baby down and pulled his sword before he ran out; Mirella, her dagger in her hand, followed him. Once it would have mattered a lot, to see her with a weapon, Arenboarth's only legitimate offspring. But not for the outlaw she had become.

For no other reason but that she'd married a soldier.

Mirella would defend her people's ways with all her might in public, but inside her soul she knew that, for all their snobbish behaviour, all their noses wrinkled in disgust, all their haughty disdain, the Druids themselves had not withstood temptation when it had come to the test. Princess Morgyan and her brother could tell a tale or two about that.

She felt therefore free to shout it out from all their roofs – unlike Agneta, who was secretly torturing herself to death about the fight with the Cymbrians, Mirella Arenboarthdaughter did not believe in offering one's other cheek. If she were to go down, she'd go down fighting.

However, what she saw in the centre of the narrow glen even made the fierce Mirella stifle a cry of fear.

A small tornado laid waste to everything in its way as the Great Dragon settled on the forest ground.

The Druids, all of them, even the Elders, had to think hard if they wanted to remember their last face-to-face encounter with the embodiment of magic. Overawed by the sight, they gawked like dim-wit village fools at the spectacle in front of them.

But the Dragon, usually enjoying a great entry and the ensuing melodrama, would have none of it. Saying that Khilgarrah was in a bad mood would have been a gross understatement.

"Where" the impressive creature threateningly growled "is that idiot master of mine?"

"Unconscious" Agneta answered, calm if a bit shaking. "We think he might be seriously harmed by the Rashnijaan. Our eyes are therefore glad to behold you, Great Lord."

"And where's the once and future King?" Khilgarrah raged. "We do not have all day!"

"If I'm the one you're looking for" said Arthur who stood by Agneta's side with Gwen in one and his sword in the other hand, "I'm here."

Arthur could hardly believe he was standing here, confronting the Dragon. Merlin had long since confessed the beast was alive, that he was a powerful creature of magic, that he, heavens above, could talk – but actually seeing and hearing the creature was different from listening to stories. Gwen, in Arthur's arm, was trembling.

"What do you want from me?" the Prince retorted. "What have I done to insult you?"

Khilgarrah cocked his head a bit. "Nothing, really. But I once dreamt of retirement, leaving you and Albion in the capable hands of the greatest warlock of all. Unlucky me, Merlin's definition of 'capable' differs a lot from mine."

"If you will excuse me" Arthur replied "but we do have our own problems here. If you're here to help Merlin, just do so."

"Unfortunately, your problems with Anwar of Llanfair's black soul and my concern for my foolish master are one and the same. Merlin cried out to me in panic when he was once more in the power of the Rashnijaan. He won't heal until it is destroyed."

The Prince's throat was tight when he answered "Yours won't be a long wait. My son's body is to die tonight. The Book of Demons will be in your power afterwards."

Khilgarrah scrutinized Agneta's face, who suddenly seemed very nervous. "Did you tell the once and future King that there was no way to save his child?"

As Agneta didn't answer, the Dragon turned to Arthur. "She lied!"

"You _can't_ tell him" Agneta suddenly yelled. "What good would it do? Our Albion, our cherished dreams, they rest with him, and Emrys. The prophecies do not even mention the child…!"

She stopped abruptly as a blade dug into the skin of her throat. "He said" Guinivere hissed dangerously "there is a way to save my son!"

"Arthur, please" Agneta pleaded "you do not know what's at stake here."

"Do not listen to her" Gwen yelled, beside herself with rage, she barely restrained herself from cutting the Druid to pieces where she stood.

Arthur swallowed painfully. He had trusted Agneta. Blindly and with all his heart. "My son" he said "is at stake here. You had no right to keep it from me if there is a way to bring him back."

Khilgarrah's huge head came down to the anguished human face. "Do not blame her for keeping silent, Prince Arthur. There is a price, yet nobody, not even the Druids, can say if it is worth to be paid. With the other keeper of destiny silenced, the choice is yours and yours alone."

Guinivere was too far gone in her wrath and terror to really heed what was said. She thought she had heard all she had ever wanted to hear.

So she had been right from the start, and Arthur had been wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

It was true, all was true, every word Uther had ever said, the Druids were evil, magic was evil, it was to be eradicated from this land, from all of Albion – her hand ached to begin it now, to struck this filthy bitch down, take Thomas and bring him home, to Camelot, where he belonged, where he would be safe.

She turned to tell Arthur what must happen, what must be done. She heard mere shreds of what this ugly, detesting beast, that had once tried to murder her and everyone in Camelot, was saying. A price, a price, what price?

"Tell him, Arthur" Gwen screamed, her cheeks flushed, her face radiant with the excitement of her rage. She felt as if she'd just awoken from a long, painful nightmare. This had not been her, this weeping, helpless, trembling creature. _He'd_ made her into this, he and his talk about destiny and fate and what not. "For the Gods' sake, Arthur, _tell_ him! There _is_ no price too high for my child!"

Arthur looked at her, everybody looked at her, and fleetingly she marvelled at their odd expressions. Why were they staring, who could have any doubt left, she was his mother, she _had_ to have him back!

"You've heard her" Arthur finally said. "There _is_ no price too high."

Agneta, and not just her, cried out, Khilgarrah sighed and bent his head. "A life for a life" he muttered "It is a law not even the Demons can avoid."

Furtively he looked at the hut in which he sensed the presence of Merlin's subdued magic.

"_Forgive me, my dragon lord_" Khilgarrah thought. "_If you can. But he deserves being given that choice_."


	36. Under the Dark Moon

**36. Under the Dark Moon**

Morgyan was beside herself with fury when she found she could not dissuade Antek from his plan. "I won't allow it, and that's final!" she yelled, raising her sword.

"What are you going to do?" Antek asked derisively. "Kill me in order to save my life?"

"You can't go anywhere without your feet!"

"Morgyan, my little pet mouse, you love my feet far too much."

"I AM _NOT_ YOUR MOUSE!"

"My little tiger?"

"I hate you!"

"So more the better, makes this much easier." He laughed, that crooked, charming laugh of his which lit his eyes, the laugh she'd found irresistible from the start. Almost as much as his figure, his honey-skin, his shining black mane … his whims, his wit, his peculiarly changeable bravery…..and she hadn't even told him that Merco was dead.

"Antek, please, don't do this to me."

Llanfair took her blade from her hand and threw it unto the bed, safely out of her reach. Then he hugged her and with every part of his speech, he pecked a kiss on the top of her nose. "Arthur is my friend – _kiss _– he's clearly out of his mind – _kiss_ – and if I allow them to push me aside my father's legacy will be lost to me – _kiss_ – without me getting anything in the bargain! No Blackrock – _kiss_ – no wedding – _kiss_ – no happily ever after!"

Morgyan punched his chest. "I piss on Blackrock! The place is cursed!"

"Say the Druids!" Antek laughed.

"Says anyone!"

"Well, what does anyone know! I'll save the Book for us, my love, if they want it, they must pay for it."

"That's not a Book at all, Antek, for the Gods' sake, are you _daft_?"

"My father may have been a bastard, a vicious fiend and what not, but he kept and enlarged the greatest and most powerful estate in all of Cymbria. I'm his heir and I _will_ not give it up!" Antek let go of her and stepped back.

"Your father was an unnatural monster, a wife-slayer, and he watched his so called allies steal Blackrock away from under his pants, if only he could have his revenge on the Pendragons!"

"All the more reason for me to regain my fortune, and an even footing with both your crown and that of Uther."

"I no longer have a crown and Uther loathes the sight of you! Without you, nothing of this would have happened!"

"Yes, but think of his angelic smile when it will be me who reunites him with his family!"

"Antek you're fantasising. It's not real."

"When all is said and done, Arthur is still the only friend I've ever had. Just like you said – parts of his predicament could be related to me."

Count Llanfair turned and made ready to leave the hut when he found that he could not.

A giant figure blocked his way.

Cendred's powerful arms grabbed the younger, much leaner man and lifted him from the ground with no effort at all. "She said: Stay!" he growled.

"Did he just speak, Morgyan? Gosh, there's hope for him yet!" Antek kicked his feet in the air, but seemed unruffled otherwise.

"Let him go, Ceddy" Morgyan said. "If he's so eager to have his head bashed, what do _we_ care!" She sounded quite indifferent and disdainful, but she felt defeated. There was no talking to him.

Since their return from Markentower there had been many an occasion on which she'd thought she'd won him round; that he had really fallen in love with her, as much as she was with him. But now her dream fell to pieces.

It had been her _one_ light in a sea of darkness since her brother's fall; that maybe it had been for good, that now, no longer a Princess, she could go away with Antek and Ceddy, find work, live peacefully, do as she pleased.

That wasn't real either.

"Didn't you hear me?" she yelled at her brother. "Let him _go_!"

Antek left without looking back.

Morgyan sat down on her bed and buried her head in her arms. She had no wish to join the others. She liked Arthur, she had, until today, thought of Gwen as a friend. She loved Antek so much that it hurt like hell – why go out and see them perish for a lost cause?

One day, somehow, this would pass, as all things somehow pass someday; she would take her brother, and kick damned Albion good-bye. There was always Gallia. Or Rome. Ceddy and Morgyan, hadn't it always come back to that in the end?

Cendred hugged her from behind, and rested his chin on her shoulder as he knelt down. "Bad day!" he growled.

"Very bad day" she answered. "But there will still be better ones!"

"Know!" he said, closed his eyes and began to doze.

She wished she could have told him how much she envied him.

Antek, meanwhile, had reached his designation. His confident grin slipped out of place when he took in the bizarre scenery at the old religion's ancient place of worshipping.

He had thought it might be easy. He could just grab the Book, it had never harmed _him_. Well, not much anyway. Perhaps they'd be so caught up in their 'sacred rituals' that he could take them all by surprise. Without the Book, Arthur's troubles might be over. Without the Book, they could forget about all their fancy superstitious lunacy. Maybe Antek should grab little Thomas, too.

They wouldn't dare pursue him, then.

And Arthur, at long last, would be grateful. As soon as he came back to his mind, that was.

Yes. A good plan.

Only that it didn't seem so fine, as the picture he found himself vis-à-vis was so very unnerving.

It was the midnight hour of the New Moon, the last one of summer. The ancients believed the female powers to be the strongest then. There was no natural light to unravel the black night's secrets. Only torches and candles, what looked like dozens of them, lit the place in which the Druids, in blood-red robes without any adornments, had gathered around a double circle of upright stones, not very tall, but forbidden looking.

Khilgarrah was nowhere to be seen when Agneta, in the splendid robes of a High Priestess, carried, on both arms outstretched, the Rashnijaan to the wooden table that had been erected in the circles' centre. Guinivere followed her closely, with Thomas in her arms. While Agneta stood still, Arthur's wife put the child on the table, on top of the Book of Demons, and walked away.

Antek wondered if by now Gwen'd gathered what she was about to witness, but she showed no sign of any remorse or worry.

The Count hesitated, at a loss as to what to do. There were so many of them.

How could a bunch of Druids look so very threatening?

A constant hum accompanied the scene, which Llanfair belatedly identified as a low song from the Druids, without words, but growing louder.

The young Count had just begun to hope that Arthur had backed off in the very last minute when he saw the Prince enter the scene from the left side, unarmed but for a strange looking dagger at his side, that Antek recognized with a start as the weapon that had killed his father – twice. Or so they had all thought.

Antek cursed himself silently, for not only having brought the Book, but the weapon too, from Markentower.

But then – the knife had saved Arthur once. Small wonder he would want to have it today.

Camelot's Crown Prince was clad in black clothes from head to toe; even his blonde hair was covered. As he passed the outer stone ring, two people, whom Llanfair suspected were Leon and Mirella, stepped away from him and melted back into the dark.

"Now what?" Antek murmured irritably to himself when he saw Agneta taking the knife from Arthur, and cut both his wrists with it. The cuts were deep, albeit not too dangerous, yet enough blood came from them to cover child and book with it as Arthur placed his hands on his son's body.

The child screamed at the top of his lungs and it did not sound like a human cry, more like that of a trapped beast.

Antek was baffled by what was going on. Uncomprehending he spotted the dagger back in its hilt at Arthur's side. The Prince knelt in front of the table, his upper body bent over Thomas who was still screaming madly. Had Agneta put the knife back? And why, for heaven's sake?

The Druid Priestess pulled a short sword from a sheath one of her compatriots held for her. It could have been of old Roman craftsmanship, had it not been too long, and covered by strange engravings, runes from the language of the old religion. The damn thing apparently had _th__ree _cutting edges, and Antek did not doubt they all were razor sharp.

But for the handle of the dagger, the engravings and gold inlays of the foreign blade were the only things that caught the light.

The onlookers' humming reached a peak, unbelievably loud.

Agneta raised the blade behind Arthurs back, and with all her strength she brought it down.

Antek screamed as he raced towards his friend, but nobody heard him for in the same moment the Great Dragon's roar filled the night, drowning all other sound on earth, echoing from the far away mountains like from the sky itself. It was as if Khilgarrah's scream would never end.

Without thinking, Antek grabbed the blade with both hands a split second before it hit its target; how this should be possible, Llanfair had no time to wonder.

It was like touching lightning.

Invisible energy jolted through Llanfair's body, a blinding light raced through his head, he could not breathe, or move.

The last thing he saw was that it had all been for nothing.

The blade went through the flesh that was in his way as if the three living bodies weren't there. When it came to rest deeply inside the Rashnijaan, it had nailed the three humans to the Book of Demons' heart as if nothing could ever separate them.

Antek fell into a whirl, down, down, deeper and deeper, strange voices whispered, bodies writhed in pain all around him, until he hit the ground, and knew no more.


	37. A Prince's choice

**37 A Prince's choice**

It was a whisper inside his head that woke Arthur from his stupor. "_What a foolish thing to do, little dragon_."

Instinctively coiling up in revulsion, Arthur tried to get away from that menacing voice.

"_When will you ever learn that there is nowhere to run, little dragon? Not in your own soul. Not from me. You shouldn't have come_."

Camelot's Crown Prince opened his eyes wide, hungry for light but all he found was darkness. Darkness in which something was stirring. Slowly at first, then faster and faster a glittering spiral of mist spread, circled him, danced up and down, up and down, as it spat out the hateful murmur.

"_I was generous this time. All I took was a useless, squealing child. Such a little thing, and I could have walked the earth again, far away from you, from Camelot. But now you're here. Stupid, Arthur Pendragon, stupid._"

"He's my son" Arthur screamed. "You had no right."

"_Did I ever care? By the way, you took my son away from me. Antek left me to join you. It's enough to break a man's heart_."

"You do not have a heart. That's why your own son loathed you long before you made me your prisoner in Blackrock Castle!"

_"Still the Crown Prince. Still the future King. Arguing your case. Where do you think we are, hmh? At your father's court? Or on a jousting field?"_

Arthur felt a something cold, soft and slimy touch his neck, like the move of a snail on his exposed skin. With a scream he jumped up, to his feet, and unsheathed the knife by his side. Awe and wonder wandered through his mind fleetingly, that it should all be so ... corporeal. Physical. As if his body really was here. As if this was a fight against an oponent like all the others his blade had sent to the next world.

But of course, that was an illusion.

His body wasn't here. It was nailed to the sacred stone of a Druid Sanctuary by a magic sword, together with the tiny body of his little Thomas.

"I know where we are" Arthur shouted, blindly thrusting the blade that wasn't really there into the unnatural haze of light and shadow all around him. "And you can rot inside the Rashnijaan to all eternity. It's no worse than you deserve!"

"_But that's not what you came for, is it_" Anwar's voice sniggered inside Arthur's mind.

"I came for my son" Arthur screamed, and again he fought violently against an enemy that wasn't there either. Except for the suffocating presence in his own mind.

"_Put awy your knife, little dragon_" Anwar said, bored and ever so slightly disgusted. "_Khilgarrah lied to you. This is not what it takes to free your child_!"

"The blade killed you before! And twice! It will do so again!"

"_Pendragons_!" the spectre inside Arthur chuckled. "_Hare brained, the lot of you. Without your swords, what are you? Stupid, Arthur, stupid. The knife killed my body. I do no longer have a body of my own. What does that tell you, hmh_?"

"In this world, it will, as long as Agneta's spell lasts. You cannot fool me, Anwar of Llanfair. Now show yourself. You cannot evade me forever."

"_Poor, hapless little Prince, talking so lightly about forever and a day. All the time it is pit-pat, pit-pat on the Druid stone; your blood, Thomas' blood running away and with it the magic of the Druid bitch - what fragile creatures you are, fragile and pathetic_."

"If I'm so pathetic, why not show yourself to me?" Arthur asked with all the acid sarcasm he could muster. "Great Master of the Dark Forces, why hide from a foolish human weakling?"

The fog around Arthur seemed alive, to move with a will of it's own. In front of teh Prince, a part of it took shape, hardened at the rims, looked almost human. "_Can you see me, little dragon? Can you see where my heart is? Stab away my friend, stab me, at your heart's delight!" _Anwar's whisper was a sing-sang, like that of a menacing child teasing another. _"Come on, little dragon, come on_! _Let me see your skill, great warrior, let me have it all_!"

With an inhuman yell, the scream of a trapped animal, Arthur lunged forward, his arm raised high, and with one precise, deadly strike, the knife came down on its mark.

The shadow in front of Pendragon twisted away, this way, that way, impossible to grab, too fast to see, to take an aim. "_I'm here, little dragon, I'm here. Faster, faster. You may still be lucky. Pit-pat, pit-pat the blood drips on the stoooone_."

Arthur was panting, his sight was blurred, his arms and legs were hurting. His strength seemed to abandon him by the second. Pit-pat, pit-pat in his ears, like thunder, and his force of will was drained away.

But finally, with his last breath, Arthur could see the shadow make the tiniest mistake. Tired of the game of flipping here and there, Anwar's form started a pirouette, long, graceful turns, out of reach just by a fracture of an inch.

Arthur pulled all his remaining strength together, and jumped.

The blade hit the creature's chest and cut through it like a ray of summer sun would melt the butter.

"_Ow, ow_" Anwar howled. "_You cut me, you devil, you cut me. Ow, ow, oh such a nasty knife. You naughty, naughty boy_."

The shadow came to a standstill. The creature shook itself, and suddenly, the shadow was gone. Where it had been, stood the full life, vigorous figure of the old Count of Llanfair. It was all there, just like Arthur saw it in his nightmares, the strong-boned face, the cold green eyes, the lavishly red, strangely voluptuous mouth with the glittering, pearl white teeth, caught halfway between an amused smile and a vicious sneer.

In the long, slender and hatefully elegant hand of the monster the blade of Arthur's knife sparkled in the unearthly light.

And yet, there was nothing unearthly left, really. They both stood opposite each other, looking at each other, surrounded by a green meadow in the full splendour of a radiant summer day.

"I can keep this up as long as I wish" the Count said, no longer a whispering ghost but with the voice of a grown-up man, his own voice, the voice he had once been able to mould and shape to purpose, to dazzle, to scare or to betray. Now, he spoke almost mournfully. "You, Arthur, cannot. Look over there!"

The Prince's gaze followed the pointing finger and, unsurprisingly, the sight was that of little Thomas, kicking and gurgling on the grassy ground like the happy child he once had been.

"He's dying" Anwar said soberly. "Like his father. But you'll be glad to hear that your souls won't stay either. It was a Druid's sword that cut you both in two."

"I do not…." Arthur said, without knowing what he was saying, his eyes once more fixed on the shimmering blade in Anwar's hand.

"This knife…." Llanfair interrupted, opened his fingers and just let it drop to the ground, where it was swallowed up by the high, emerald grass that covered the ground like so much precious velvet. Out of sight. Out of the game. Out of Arthur Pendragon's pitiably misled equations. "This knife can no longer harm me. Not here. My world ….." Anwar shrugged with an apologizing grin "…. my rules."

He looked at Arthur's fallen face, and sighed like a frustrated teacher. "I know, little dragon, I know. Agneta said it would work, the Great Dragon said it would work, bla, bla, bla – but then, you see, you all were a trifle upset I shouldn't wonder? Fact is, my dear Highness, you should have brought your sorcerer. A knife is a knife is a knife; you can kill bodies with it; but young Merlin, the presumptuous pup, could do so much more with it…."

"Merlin is indisposed" Arthur retorted sarcastically. This mentioning of Merlin had somehow done it. Arthur felt his panic rush out of him together with his paralyzing fear and the futile rage. It was like being in the centre of a melee, the last man standing against overwhelming enemy numbers. Sword lost, armour lost – and an irresistible urge to laugh out loud for it was all so very, so ridiculously absurd and outright barmy. "In case you've forgotten, My Lord of Llanfair – it was you who disinclined Merlin from attending the party. Too bad, between washing my socks and ironing my shirts, he found always time to throw you on your back like a brainless turtle."

Anwar cocked a brow. "Well put, Your Highness. I had quite forgotten, you're not a bore all the time."

Arthur pulled himself upright, took a deep breath and looked at his nemesis. "What now, Your Grace? This is it? I'll die, my child dies and you are going to spend eternity in here. All hail for a game well played, the winner loses all."

"There is" Anwar said with another shrug "another possibility of course…"

"Oh, but of course, isn't there always."

"All I need for my escape from here is a human body."

"Naturally."

"I thought to use your little Thomas….."

"I think I might remember something like that."

"But I could easily use you."

"Why" Arthur asked drily "am I not surprised?"

"Think about it, Arthur" Anwar had begun circling him with soft, soundless steps. The hunter stalking his prey. "Nobody would know. And your child would be safe."

"Safe" Arthur guffawed "Thomas would be safe, with you, in my body, roaming Camelot?"

"Would I harm him? Would I harm anyone inside Camelot borders, even Uther the dumbass? Blow my cover? Arouse your precious manservant's suspicion? Once he knew that I'm not you, he'd hunt me down."

"Merlin would know anyway."

"Maybe your former manservant will find an untimely death."

"Is that meant to give me confidence?"

"It is meant to let you see I'm telling the truth. You're Arthur Pendragon, heir to the Crown, young, handsome, healthy and strong. And, once I'm outside Camelot, I could easily take another's body, leaving yours to rot in a place where even Merlin could not find it." Anwar's eyes shone. "Think of the possibilities. A High Priest one day. An emperor, the next. A rich merchant. A great general. Immortality in absolute freedom. Oh, believe me, nothing would keep me inside Albion. Or inside you, not a second longer than I have to."

Arthur smelled a rat, but he couldn't make it out. There had to be a catch in that, with Anwar of Llanfair, there always was. "Why not keep Thomas?"

"Because, dimwit, they'll search his soul for traces of me as soon as we re-emerge. But not you, his father and gallant saviour. Not if I play it right. And you must grant me that much – I'm a first class actor."

"Why not force me?"

"I would, if I could. It was always enjoyable, little dragon, to force you under my will. Don't you remember?" Arthur winced when the other's fingertips brushed over his neck, as they'd done so many times before. "Unfortunately" Anwar added "it doesn't work like that, now, that my own body is dead and you're under the enchantment of the Druid's sword. I need your cooperation. Too bad."

"What…" Arthur cleared his throat to keep his voice steady.

"What about you?" Anwar completed his question for him. "You were to stay in here, I'm afraid. But you're supposed to be a knight in shining armour, a paragon of all that's good and true, whatever that means. You could preach the gospel of the hundred towered Camelot to all the nice friendly demons. Or some other religion that takes your fancy. We've got priests and holy men from all stations; oh, but for the incorruptible corrupted – one look at the Rashnijaan's promises and pfffh – gone were their most sacred convictions. They sold their gods and goddesses for a piece of good cloth, a pretty bauble, a woman or a throne that did not belong to them. They would not hold it against you if you sold yourself for the life of your son." For the first time, Anwar laughed out freely, loud and heartily. "And there's still the Lord Druid's spectre. You could ask him what he did to save his people from your father's great purge. A story worth knowing, about friends betrayed and souls besmirched." Again, Llanfair chuckled to himself. "Oh, Arenboarth, Arenboarth. Poor old idiot."

"I had" Arthur replied hoarsely "quite forgotten how much you're in love with your own voice."

"One of my endearing little weaknesses" Llanfair said. "Don't let it keep you. Pit-pat, Arthur, my friend. Pit-pat."

Arthur lowered his head, not in fear, but to keep his feelings to himself.

"Idiot, little dragon, idiot. This isn't a meadow at all, I'm still inside your mind, you couldn't expel me, unless we left here, the two of us in one body. Which is not what I have in mind. By the way – pit-pat."

On the other side of the grassy spot, Thomas – or his image – grew visibly tired. His head fell to the side, lily-white under the colour his mother had given him, against the vividly coloured grass. His tiny arms relaxed, and his breathing was shallow, almost invisible. His dark lashes fell on his cheeks, and he slept.

He wouldn't even feel it. No pain, no fear, no sorrows. Who knew what future suffering dying today would spare him.

Come to think of it, what was it good for?

Arthur's own life – what good had it brought to anyone?

Some preciously stolen moments with Gwen. Thomas' first smile. Some friends. A handful of happy memories. An awful lot of exaggerated expectations. A bunch of empty promises and disappointed hopes. And what would the future bring to Arthur Pendragon - A father he could no longer stand, a wife that blamed him for all the bad things that had happened and a sorcerer-friend who might as well be dead and buried.

To sleepwalk to the other side now – to leave it all behind. Let Uther remarry, let Gwen remarry.

To walk out now, with his son's hand in his. Cool. Dark. And quiet.

In this moment, temptation was overwhelming. The call in Arthur's heart drowned out all other calls.

To hell with the world.

Imagine, winning a war by losing it. Where was that written in King Uther Pendragon's books of regal dignity and power? How's that for a novelty to you, my kingly father?

Arthur opened his mouth to tell the monster. To say that he wanted to go, that he was ready to go to a place where no one would find him and his child, where all nightmares would end, no pretence of strength and invincibility was needed, and all memories would cease, for him, and for little Thomas.

But there was no need. He read it in the monster's face that Anwar knew already. He was shaking, his fists cramped until the knuckles stood out white by his side.

"_Pit-pat_" Arthur thought. "_Pit-pat.__ One second or a dozen. Strike now or don't. It makes no difference_." His own knees were trembling, and felt like jelly. There was lightness in his head; and a fluttering, airy sensation in his stomach. He smiled. Not long now. Not long.

He thought he heard Agneta scream his name.

"_Forgive me__,__my __friends_" Arthur thought. "_I am so sorry_." But he was not. If this was death, it was like a soft, comforting blanket. It felt even better, a hundred, a thousand times better. He had died more painfully, again and again, in the past. The months in Blackrock. The look in Uther's face, speculating, calculating, waiting – when his son had to face the men who'd seen him as Anwar's slave. Uther's indignantly patting hand when his son had woken screaming from another nightmare. "_It can't be that bad, after all this time. Pull yourself together, son_." The impatient pacing in front of his bedchambers, then the angry royal command: "_Gaius, I told you to make him better. What for did I allow magic back __into Camelot? The realm needs its__ Prince_!" Antek's face when Camelot's Crown Prince told him about his last night in Anwar's chambers.

Arthur felt a bitter satisfaction when he read from Anwar's crestfallen features that by submitting to his fate he had dealt his archenemy the most mortal blow possible. If Arthur and Thomas were to die, Anwar wouldn't go anywhere. And he would loath being trapped here, to all eternity, the former master of Blackrock Castle, oh yes, he would feel all the torment of a Tantalus, with no hope of deliverance, ever.

The loser takes it all.

"You win" Arthur said calmly. "Kill me! Or wait – I'm dying already. How very convenient."

Livid with rage, Anwar roared "I can still take your son."

"Please do" replied Arthur. "Like you said – in my body you might fool the sword's magic, you might even fool Agneta – but not in my son's. You've lost, Anwar."

"Indeed" someone stated, as cool as you please. Both Arthur and Anwar were taken by complete surprise, they lost track of each other, darted round in search for the intruder.

In the shadow of a tree's canopy a lean, tall figure rested his back casually against the wood. "My Lord Llanfair" Merlin said derisively. "Accept my humble apologies for being late – but did you really think I wouldn't find you?"


	38. Finalities

**38 Finalities **

"You're not late, sorcerer" a tensed Anwar said. "You're _too_ late. Your master has a mind to die, and he can be stubborn."

"I'm at the Prince's command. But the King outranks him. And I'm reasonably sure King Uther wants his son alive."

"Go away, Merlin" Arthur objected when his Court Sorcerer approached the Count. "I've made up my mind. It's for the best."

"As you always do, Your Highness. Martyrdom suits you and you've been told that way too often." Merlin still walked towards the Count who didn't stir. But he did not take his glittering gaze away from the young magician either.

"I'm still inside him, Merlin. How could you impede me without hurting your master?"

"As Arthur's willing to sacrifice himself anyway, what does it matter?"

"It matters to you!"

"Perhaps. But the Pendragons never gave a shit about what matters to me."

"_Mer_lin…"

"Shut up, prat."

Arthur had no other chance to intervene, as in the next moment, Merlin seemed to pass some invisible border and all hell broke loose when Anwar suddenly raised his arms.

Gone were the serene meadow, the blue sky and the tranquil silence. A howling, raging gale took Arthur in its grip, paralysed him, drove him against an invisible wall and held him there, for all his frantic struggling. Darkness fell once again, and the shimmering, dancing mist was back, twisting more violently than before.

The noise was deafening, the roaring of thunder and lightning, mixed with the storm and the strange voices that came from inside the cloud of mist.

But even in the darkness Arthur could see shadows rise all around Merlin, whispering, screeching, pawing all over him, like bloodsucking insects covering a piece of living, bleeding flesh.

"Merlin, run!" Arthur screamed. He watched, transfixed with disgust yet uncomprehending as the creatures extorted a wave of energy from Merlin's body, a light as golden as the eerie light that shone in his eyes when he used his magic.

That was it. These … things were sucking not Merlin's blood, but his magic out of him. They _feasted_ on it. As if they were to turn his insides out. In utter horror, Arthur yelled again. "Get out of here, idiot. You're no match for them!"

In the flickering lights of mist and twisted magic lightning metal glittered on the ground not too far away from Arthur. The knife, he realized. The stupid, useless thing of which he in his naivety had thought it was the key to freedom and life itself. But then, it might not be as useless to anybody as it was to him. "Merlin" he strained his voice to drone out the cacophony of roaring sounds "The knife. Take the knife. Use it."

Anwar turned briefly towards the Prince, and sneered. Merlin, unbelievably, in the midst of his deadly struggle, smiled, and shook his head in a silent apology.

A gust of ice cold rain poured down from nowhere, and Arthur lost sight of the two fighting men and their demonic allies or foes. For endless moments, the Prince could neither hear not see anything but the raging elementary powers and the high pitched screams of more demons and lost souls flocking to the place.

If one could call this nightmarish version of Armageddon a 'place'.

Arthur's heart raced in his throat, he felt sick and exhausted, as if his blood was indeed taken from his veins, faster and faster.

The Gods knew, he had been prepared and willing to die, but not like this. Not half drowned, helpless, like a half-strangled dog, and for nothing. "Merlin" he screamed again as loud as he could. "Merlin!"

Suddenly, the wind turned, and Arthur was blown from his place at the wall, thrown to the ground and skidded all over the place. He grabbed blindly at the ground, at walls that weren't there, at non-existing trees. He cut his hands open to the bones when he grabbed the knife's blade and held unto it for dear life, as if the darn thing could still be his salvation. And still he was sliding down an invisible slope, driven by the wind and the water pouring down, until he bumped into something that stopped him.

Blinded, choking, gasping for air, Arthur somehow scrambled to his feet, and grabbed whatever it was in his back with one hand, frantically searching the black turmoil around him for a sign of his friend and enemy. He almost sobbed with relief when he found Merlin, only a few steps away, still standing, hurling flashes of magic at Anwar's form.

Llanfair fend them off with ease, while he signalled his demons to attack the sorcerer, again and again.

Without knowing what he was doing, or what he was about to do when he reached them, Arthur pushed forward, the knife in one bleeding hand, hidden behind his back, ready to strike. A part of him knew it would achieve nothing, but all the other parts voted for going down fighting if all else was lost. Life-long instincts took over, and he was no longer a conscious being.

Like a madman he stabbed at Anwar's back, over and over again.

Apparently, the constant attacks were nothing but fleabites. Without really turning, Anwar pushed Arthur away, who fell to the ground again. With a nauseating, cracking sound, Arthur's kneecap came out of joint and he knew instantaneously that for all his strength and for all his resolve, this mistreated joint would not let him stand up anytime soon. Not in his already weakened state.

While his leg felt as if it were bathed in gusts and gusts of boiling water, Arthur watched Merlin lose the fight, and quickly so. Albeit the creatures around him had for some reasons lost their appetite for his magic and backed off a step or two, those demons who by Anwar's command fought back with their own powers slowly gained ground on the young magician.

It was obvious even to Arthur that under normal circumstances the demons' machinations would have been nothing but child's play against Merlin's inborn powers, but inside the Rashnijaan, on their own ground, and in sheer countless numbers, they would, in the end, prevail.

Already Merlin grew weaker by the second. He swayed on his feet, stumbled back.

Unwilling to be pulled into the fight, the magic-sucking creatures backed off even further away, hovering indecisively over the ground some two or steps behind the magician, whose strained face and shaking shoulders spoke loudly of his exhaustion.

They were biding their time, Arthur thought despairingly. Why attack a fighting prey, if you can devour it more easily as soon as it has been brought down by somebody else?

Reflexively, Arthur struggled to get up, only to bend over and choke up bile when his leg gave way under his weight with an agonising wave of blinding pain. How the hell was this possible? His body wasn't even here, damn it, so how could it hurt so much?

Again, he thought he could hear Agneta's voice over all the turmoil, shouting his name. If it was indeed her spell that kept him here, he wished he could tell her to just let go, before it was too late.

Arthur tried to concentrate, to remember every bit and shred of information he'd always got about magic, how it worked, how spells worked, physical world, spiritual world – anything.

Stubbornly, uselessly his mind repeated one scene, one memory, and this memory alone – his father's voice, when he had been a child, stumbled over an old book on a forgotten shelf in Camelot's vast cellars - where he was strictly forbidden to ever go, but which was his favourite playground just because of that.

For the first time ever, Uther had not ordered somebody else to punish his son and heir, but thrashed his six year old boy with his own hand – and belt. All Arthur remembered was his father's red, puffy face, the tears of wrath (and perhaps something else, as Arthur realized only now, more than 20 years later) in Uther's eyes and his endlessly repeated stream of words, from which the little boy, scared witless, only gathered that magic was evil and that such books must not be touched, ever again.

It had taken him 14 years before he had visited these cellars again, and until even today, just being there gave him the creep.

So here he was, trapped in a world of evil magic, if there ever had been one, the real world's, _his_ world's most powerful sorcerer ever was losing a fight on which the fate of all of Camelot depended, let alone his little son and his own life, the magical knife was useless, and so were Uther's teachings.

Great, father. Thanks a lot.

Perhaps you could lend me that belt of yours, to give ol' Anwar a real good thrashing?

It was listening to his own thoughts that made Arthur think he'd maybe lost it.

Meanwhile circumstances were pretty much as dire, pretty much as unbelievable, and pretty much as hopeless as they had been before.

Arthur watched Merlin stumble even further back, then fall to his knees, bend over.

Sorry, Merlin. Should never have dragged you into this. But then, I never could keep you away from one of these petty skirmishes, could I. You and your great destiny.

Crab. I'd rather I'd been born into some country property, two cows, one goat, and Gwen there to come to my bed at night. And Thomas. Thomas in the sun, pedalling his legs. Thomas at night, chewing his paw. Thomas, smiling at him from somewhere deep below inside the cradle.

The thought came out of nowhere, that it was befitting to now go – or rather crawl – and find the child. Without hesitation, Arthur went about his new mission, leaving the scene of his and Merlin's utter defeat behind.

This wasn't real, anyway. He had no idea what was real, but he knew for a fact that this here was not. So he might as well find his little boy and go to sleep.

Single minded as he went about it, Arthur found Thomas – he had no longer an idea of the little boy being his son's image, or avatar or whatever an adept of the old religion would have called the tiny body sleeping on the ground – took the baby's hand into his own, and went out as a light.

He did not even feel it when someone gently wrestled the knife from his other hand and sneaked away as silently and as quickly as he had come.

Meanwhile, Anwar let his arms sink. The young magician who had once defeated him so easily, who had once caught him unaware, was down on his knees, his powers spent, defenceless.

And even so, the demons and lost souls that hungered for the shabby leftovers of his singular magic, hesitated to come near him. Still indecisive, they hovered in their corner, too terrified to stir.

Cowards in life, cowards even here and now. The Rashnijaan had an irresistible allure to these characters. Small wonder he, Anwar of Llanfair, had been the first to really master the Book of Demons and its powers.

Briefly, the spectre thought about making sure that the young magician was a spent force, but another need tore at him, urged him to turn to where his future lay, unmoving, almost dead and lost to him forever.

He couldn't allow that. He couldn't afford that.

Standing over the two Pendragons like an ancient deity, ready to hand out death or live or endless torment at his heart's desire, Anwar hesitated. Which one? The child? No. Too dangerous. The father, then. Oh, to think of Uther Pendragon's only son, forever trapped inside a world of demons, a prisoner of the darkest of magic until the moon fell into the sea – it was too good to be true.

Before he left Albion forever, before he took another body, and another, and another, before he would roam and rule the mortal world forever, he would make sure that Uther knew. In the split second before he died by his own son's hand, he would know what had befallen his precious Arthur and that he, Uther himself, had nourished and cherished Arthur's murderer in the body of his son.

Anwar relished this moment even now. He bathed, for a glorious second, in the joyful anticipation of the day.

Then he bent down, and gently shook Arthur's shoulder. "It's time, little dragon. Time to fulfil your destiny. Wake up, my dear, I need your help for this."

Arthur stirred, his lids were as heavy as lead, he could not open his eyes. "What…."

A slap in his face, then another. "Damn you, wake up, you brat!"

Arthur opened his eyes as best he could, to see two white spots hovering above him, one behind the other's shoulder. What on earth was going on?

"It's time to say good bye, Arthur. Come on, just open up to me. Do not fret, you won't suffer for long."

Something brushed by Arthur's mind, something intrusive. Something which had until now been in the back of his mind demanded pre-eminence. Like a bat emerging from a dark cavern. And yet it was pushing him, pushing him out.

Instinctively, Arthur fought back. The other cursed blasphemously. The pressure on Arthur's mind became harder, more violent. "_Let me in. Or else ….._"

Arthur fought a hopeless battle. Something told him that he should not fight at all. That he should let this happen, however much he dreaded being pushed out into desolation.

A faint memory stirred, and went down again instantly, when the pressure weakened. He had felt that before, sensed that before, the violent, painful onslaught and then the sudden release, as if the attacker had been distracted, had lost his purpose.

More alert than before, Arthur focused his gaze on the figure that by now held him by the shoulders, only to see the attacker's head being turned towards something in his back.

Or rather, towards some_one_ in his back.

"Antek" Arthur murmured. "Antek, where do you…." He could not finish, he screamed with pain when Anwar dropped him to the ground and jumped to his feet, snarling like a wild animal.

"Get away from him, you moron" Anwar barked. "Will you forever stand in my way, you pitiful excuse for a son?"

It appeared to Arthur's blurry gaze that Antek did not look as he should. There was blood, it came from his nose and his – his _eyes_? His skin was pallid, he was stumbling as he raised his hand to the apparition of his father. "Leave Arthur alone. Go to hell where you belong."

"I should have buried you with your mother's carcass" Anwar yelled, pushing Antek back. "If it had not been for you, I could have made Blackrock bigger than life, ruled an empire to all eternity. You and your foolishness, you blasted it all, you're no son of mine, you're a creeping worm, like that whore, your mother."

"You have no right to reclaim Blackrock. It is mine, y' hear me? MINE! You're dead, dead and buried, I'll burn the last rottin' pieces of your flesh and make sure you'll never rise again!"

Arthur knew Antek was doomed the moment he came for his father's spectre. The demons needed no command from their master to attack the young Count and Arthur felt sick when he saw them bury Antek's struggling body under their sheer numbers. The young Count screamed under the heaving, flowing back mass, and the scream did not end.

Anwar watched the hopeless struggle only for a moment before he turned back to Arthur. It was the Pendragon Prince who just could not turn his gaze away from the heaving, screeching mass under which a living soul was fighting his last.

So it came that Arthur never really saw the lean figure appear behind Anwar's back, raise the knife and bring it down with vicious force. The Prince only turned back to his enemy when the old Count's spectre was cut in two halves from head to toe with one merciless thrust of the blade that blazed in a golden sparkling flood of light.

The world around Arthur was shattered, it imploded on itself. Light engulfed him, in all colours of the rainbow, voices screeched in incredibly high pitched tones, incredibly loud, incredibly ugly.

Desperately Arthur held fast to Thomas' hand, determined to _not_ let go, at all costs.

The universe seemed turned upside down, Arthur's body and that of his son were taken by the storm, lifted high up into what could have been heaven or hell, tossed and pushed like dry leaves in an autumn gale. Arthur screamed and yelled in senseless terror, the way he'd screamed only once before – and suddenly, all was over.

With a thud, his body hit the solid, leave-covered ground of a forest, he could see the sky, dark blue with a rim of reddish gold and some fading silver in the east. Trees stood dark against the lighter background.

A crowd was gathered all around him, murmuring, excitedly shrieking, definitely human, definitely not dead.

Agneta's strained face bent over him was the first he recognized, before, with a loud, strangled sob, Guinivere fell over him and took little Thomas from his hands.

Whilst she rose and lifted her son to her chest, the Prince could see Thomas' face.

The baby, that much Arthur could see albeit not believe, was smiling happily. He gurgled, and then he did, loud and imperatively, what he had never done before: Little Thomas spoke. And his very first word was: "Mama!"

"_Great, son_" Arthur thought as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. "_Thanks a lot_! _It's so good to be appreciated." _


	39. A price to pay

**39 There always is a price to pay**

"He's dying" Morgyan said.

She could have said "the weather's changing."

Arthur, even to his own ears, sounded like a dimwit parrot when he repeated how sorry he was. The word was so pathetically inadequate.

"Is that all" Morgyan asked, still void of all obvious emotion. "He goes out, he falls into the sword that was meant for you, you and your son come back, and Antek's dying. You're sorry." She rose slowly, and suddenly she came for him like a tigress, grabbed him, nailed him against the wall "Goddess, Arthur, IS THAT ALL you have to say?"

A thousand well phrased platitudes went through Arthur's head, the kind of phrases that come easily to a Prince. Talk and forget. But in the end he just said "I would tell you so much more, if only I knew what has happened …. there. Perhaps Merlin could…"

Yes, Merlin. How very unfortunate that Merlin was in no state to talk.

"He wants to see you" Morgyan snapped, and let go of him, as if in acceptance of the futility of every effort. The unsaid words hurt them both. "_You, Arthur. On his deathbed Antek wants to see you. Not me._"

Without another sound she turned away and left the shelter.

For a moment, Arthur thought about following her. Be a coward, a deserter. How on earth should he ever speak to the man inside the other room. Antek, the traitor, the selfish courtier, the man who sold anyone to anyone if the price was right. The man who had almost got Uther killed, Merlin sold into slavery. Antek, without whose greedy appetite for the Rashnijaan nothing of this would ever have happened.

Antek of Llanfair, who had brazenly confronted death, his father, and hell itself, to pull Arthur Pendragon's precious arse out of the pit. Antek, who had, and more than once, stood between Arthur and death. Antek, whom Merlin had just put to use, like a tool, a heartless, soulless thing.

Merlin, the destroyer of Blackrock. Merlin, without whose reckless acts, Antek might still be a Lord of the Border, a friend to Camelot, a husband one day soon, a father, perhaps ….

All that, lost and gone, to spare a Pendragon Prince the trouble of taking things into his own hands.

All his life, Arthur had been surrounded by smiling faces, some kind, some fraudulent, some empty. Even with Leon, with the others, with his boyhood companions, he had had just two real, close personal friends in his life, and in their stumbling over each other in their eagerness to come to his rescue, the one had killed the other.

Only Merlin would know if he had gathered some evil satisfaction from getting Antek killed. And Merlin would have to live with that knowledge. As much as Arthur Pendragon had to.

A last duty then, and no escape from it.

Arthur sighed, turned, and went inside the tiny bedroom where Antek was waiting for him.

To his surprise, he found Gaius there, holding the dying man's wrist for a pulse.

"Shouldn't you be…." Arthur started, and Gaius finished "with your father, yes. Uther is interrogating the Druids – again! – to shed some light on the affair, as he calls it. As usual, darkness is spreading where your father holds the lamp. Ever since we came…Arthur, he'll still be the death of me."

Arthur felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. That Gaius was here, as wise and as warm-hearted as ever, that he could make jokes when things were so grim, and that these jokes were never misplaced, or cruel, or thoughtless.

Perhaps it was true, what he had been told. That Uther had been almost out of his mind with hurt and anger, when he had been informed that his baby son Arthur had spoken his first word ever. And that this first word, contrary to the King's express command, had not been "Dadda", let alone "father". No, Arthur Pendragon's first word on this earth had been "Gaia", as the ominous "-us" was still too much demanded.

"Talk to your father, Arthur" Gaius said, as if he'd been reading the Prince's thoughts. "One of these days. Talk to him. As fathers come – you could have done much worse." With a furtive, silent gesture of his hand, Gaius pointed at Antek's waxen face. The man who had had Anwar of Llanfair for a father.

"I was saying" Arthur said, not taking the bait "should you not be with Merlin?"

"No" Gaius stated firmly. "As usual there's not much I can do which his magic cannot do better, and quicker, and more sustainably. Except…."

"Except" finished Arthur ruefully "look after us until he wakes up to resume the job."

"Exactly" confirmed Gaius with a wicked grin. "You know, if I had known how much easier things are without keeping you and Uther in the dark about Merlin's talents – I would have told you myself. First thing in the morning you hired him."

"First of all – I did not hire him, Uther did. Second – it would have got you both killed. As it almost did when it came out in the end. My father …."

"Accepted magic back in Camelot. In the end."

"Because he had to, in order to save the realm."

"Strange" Gaius said. "I thought it was to save you from the consequences of your father's idiocy." Again, seemingly without reason, Gaius hand pointed at Antek's sleeping form. "A lot of people need you, Arthur. If anyone makes a sacrifice for you, do not throw it into his face. It's not polite."

"Is that what I'm in this world for" Arthur said irritably. "To be polite?"

"Some say" Gaius answered placidly "that this talk about destiny and fate is a crime, that it holds people back from fulfilling their potential, whatever that is. Perhaps something one could eat with a strawberry sauce. Or perhaps it is the pretentious babbling of those who think too highly of the human race. But if indeed we alone are masters of our lives – then your friends could have made other choices. Instead they chose you. Above the potentially abundant power of a sorcerer born of legends, above their fear and loathing of all magic in this world – even above the potential rise of a new Blackrock Castle. Let your friends be the judges of their own foolishness or wisdom. It is your duty to honour them for the choices they made on your behalf" Gaius cleared his throat discreetly. "Your Royal Highness."

"Long speech" Arthur said gently. Presently, he felt neither royal nor high. But then, truth be told, with Gaius he rarely did.

"Long enough to let Antek wake up I shouldn't wonder." Gaius turned, slapped Arthur on the shoulder and with a casual "good luck, my boy" he was gone. Doubtlessly there was another urgent holding operation waiting for him, with a Pendragon crest labelled to it in one way or the other.

"Arthur."

"I'm here, Antek. Don't exert yourself." Arthur sat, and without the revulsion he had so feared, he took Antek's hand where Gaius had left it.

"I'm not a pretty sight, eh?" the withered skull with the sunken, greyish eyes that had once been so vivacious and vibrantly green, actually managed a smile. The gums were still bleeding, and Arthur thought from where this blood might still come in this broken shell of a human being. Three days ago, when Arthur had first come to, it had cost Gaius, recently arrived in King Uther's wake, one look at the Count to see that he was bleeding inside, and that there was no hope.

"Your vanity will still be the death of you, Antek of Llanfair."

Antek shook his head a little. "I think not." On his pillow the last strains of his formerly shining black mane, now whitish fluffs of hair, were caught and came off his skin, just like that. In Arthur's strong fingers, Antek's bones were brittle, light, like those of a bird.

"Perhaps" Arthur started clumsily, broke off, and started again "perhaps… if you could tell me what actually happened …. I might ….. you see, Morgaine would like to know."

"It wasn't Merlin's fault" Antek said. He talked in a whisper, but he was persistent. He had to say this, and he would. "The choice was mine, and mine alone. Face it, Pendragon. You're not the only hero in this world!"

"But…."

"No buts, Your Royal Highness. Bear it." This stubborn tenacity was really the last shred of the man Arthur had known almost all his life. "Merlin wanted to fight through this alone, but once he'd told me that he could use me as a distraction … I was on my way. And I didn't turn back." Exhausted, Antek stopped talking.

"I…. I do not know what to say…."

"You can stop searching for the right medal in Camelot's chests, I did not do it for you, you royal oaf!"

Arthur looked up in perfect perplexity, to meet a very sarcastic gaze from the dying man. "That is what Your Royal Highness thought and feared, is it not" Antek added wheezily, but still grinning. "Rest your soul, Arthur. I did it for Blackrock. For my people. And for myself."

"But how…."

"I told you once, I told you a hundred times, Blackrock and the Llanfair Heritage are as dear to me as Camelot is to you. I told you, to hell with our fathers, and I put my trust in you, for both our peoples' sake. Why do you never listen?"

For a second, Arthur had it on his lips, that Blackrock could never be restored, that the Druids, that Merlin, Gaius, and all the other holders of magic and the Old Religion would never permit it – but he bit his tongue just in time. Antek did not deserve this, the one word that would tell him that all his sacrifices had been in vain.

And then – Llanfair was bigger than one haunted castle site, however splendid. "Antek, I promise you …."

"Yes, you might well promise me. And I promise you, I'll hold you to it; from the other world, I'll watch you and if you let me down, I'll come back to hold you responsible. I'm a Llanfair, Arthur. I mean it."

"I promise you" Arthur said with more earnestness "to do my best."

"Merco died for it. I had to murder my own father for it; I would have killed your father for it, every day of the week" Antek said feverishly. "You, I trusted. Don't you dare to let me down! I entrust Llanfair to you. I give it into your care, not as your own, not as a part of Camelot. I'm not making donations to the Pendragon Crown here!" He coughed raspingly, and could not go on.

"Antek…. if there were anyone but you, some cousin, uncle, a bastard line of the family … anyone. It would make forcing my father into heeding your wishes so much easier if there was a rightful claim …."

"That's just like you, Arthur" Antek muttered softly. "A trick. A lawyer's miracle. A court, a King in his fineries speaking in judgement amongst his peers."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No, there's nothing wrong with it, just that your father does not care, just like mine. Justice. To you it's everything, but to our fathers, it is nothing. But then, you wouldn't really turn against Uther, would you, not even for the debt of gratitude you owe me."

"This isn't fair, Antek…."

"No, it's not fair, life isn't fair, will you ever get that into this thick Pendragon skull of yours. I'm a Llanfair, I know all there is to know about the absence of fairness."

"Antek…."

"Well, here's a claim for you. I know your father. Uther the greedy bastard, he'll not let go of Cendred's kingdom now that he's got it. Cendred is finished, his male line of succession is terminated and that is all the excuse Uther needs to make Camelot just a tiny bit bigger." Again, Antek fought for breath. From where he took the strength to talk like this, in his condition, was a mystery to Arthur. Somewhere deep inside this flippant, self-absorbed aristocratic brat a fire was still burning. A fire that more than matched the fire that once had driven Uther Pendragon to take the throne of Camelot.

Fleetingly, Arthur thought that he envied them. Such surety. Such self-righteousness. No room for doubt, no scruples – must be easier to rule this way. Who needed laws, or justice, or sleepless nights if he knew that he was above mistake. Above error. That he was always right.

"Do not get me wrong, Arthur" Antek gasped menacingly. "I do not despise the differences between you and Uther. I rely on them. Before one of my ancestors ran from Camelot's threatinto the arms of Cendred's predecessors, Llanfair was a sovereign country. This sovereignty I now claim back. With the Crown Prince of Camelot as my witness, who owes his life and that of his son to me, I say that I leave all my earthly possessions to the Princess Morgyan. And to her children, as long as these her children are not offspring of the Pendragon line, how many times removed ever, you hear me?"

"I hear you" Arthur replied soberly. "I'll do my best, but I cannot guarantee anything. You know that."

Antek actually laughed. Or rather, he tried to. It led to another coughing fit, from which he recovered enough to grab Arthur's shirt to pull him closer. "You're twice the man Uther is, and you're the only one who does not know it, Arthur. And do not whine to me again about this time as my father's prisoner, or this night you – almost – spent in his bed. Do you know what your father would have done in the same situation? Yes? Exactly the same. Uther is a survivor. But afterwards, oh-la-la, afterwards. You almost fret yourself to death, but your father – he would have forgotten all about it, just because HE WANTED TO. Just as he's now forgetting about all the misery he's brought to the Druids, to my family, to your Merlin-friend's family, to all of Albion with his idiotic purge. He couldn't get over the death of your mother, because he loved her so very dearly, yes? He married Igraine because he desired her realm, and she married him because if she had not, he'd just raped her. She was the Queen, and thereby Camelot." Antek let go of the fabric, and laid back, the force given to him by his life-long loathing for the King of Camelot was spent.

"Please" Arthur said "leave my mother out of this."

"I will" Antek said. "I'm sorry. She was a fine woman, your mother. I've seen the pictures. Heard all these stories. If you had been a daughter instead of a son, perhaps … the two most prestigious family lines of Albion, Llanfair and Pendragon…. but this is idle talk. Do I have your word that you will fight for Morgyan's claim, as if it were your own?"

"Against my father the King?"

"If needs be. As I fought against my own father, when the time came – you or him. I chose you. Will you choose me, once I'm dead and buried?"

"I will" Arthur said roughly. "You have my word. Morgyan will rule Llanfair in your name, and in your family's name, in its entirety, and after her, her children, may they be male or female. No Prince, no King, not Cendred, not Uther, will stand in the way of this as long and as far as I can help it. May the Great Mother hear my vow, I swear it!"

"Do you swear for you alone or does that bind your sorcerer friend, too? Forgive me for mentioning it, but I've seen what he can do, against a castle's walls, against a world full of demons, against the monster that fathered me, I saw it."

"And yet you say what has befallen you was not his doing."

"And yet I say that the choice to save you and your son at the peril of my own useless life was mine, and mine completely!"

"Because you needed him. You let him use you so that you could use him!"

"For the Llanfair Heritage. For the love of Blackrock."

Arthur blushed under the other's derisive stare. "Merlin is his own man."

"That" Antek smiled again, a ghastly sight in his withered face "is a lie."

"I'll tell him what I vowed to do and let him make his own choice!" Arthur retorted firmly.

"Then" Antek said "I am content." He closed his eyes. He'd had his say. The day was his.

"One last thing" Arthur ventured with a courage born of utter despair of a man selling his soul to the devil and knowing it. "You did not treat her well. Morgyan might still refuse."

Antek opened his eyes, and they were no longer those of an old, dying creature. "Then tell her, if she does, I will curse her name and that of her brother with my last breath. I'll spit on the love she allegedly had for me, I'll piss on her memory and on every word of love she ever gave me. She'll never be free from me and the hatred I bear her. Tell her that!"

"I will" Arthur promised. "You're a cruel, vengeful man, Antek. I never knew that in you before today."

"I am" Antek gasped "my father's son. Don't you ever forget that. Not for a second."

"I won't" Arthur replied, whilst rising. "You can sleep now. You have my word." He made ready to leave; he almost had left, when Antek's voice stopped him. "Arthur – don't get this wrong, I'm not relieving you of anything. But for our childhood's sake, for all the good you once did me, when I needed it most – if I had once more to choose between killing you or saving you – I would always choose the latter."

For the first time since he had come, Arthur genuinely smiled. "I know, my friend" he said. "I've always known."

He did not look back but the soft rustling of the fabric told him that Antek was searching for a more comfortable position; that he would want to rest now. It gave the Prince a peculiar sense of peace.

He would have been a great man in his own right, Antek of Llanfair, Anwar's unwilling son.

And had he lived, perhaps, one future day, and fate be merciful, a reasonably good one.

What more could a man ask for, the world being as it was?

As Arthur had expected, Gaius was waiting outside, serene, calm, and yet there was a tiny shred of nervousness just under the facade.

"What did you give him?" Arthur asked for a greeting. "He's strong, he always was, in his own way, but this is more than nature would provide to a man so close to his grave."

"A potion known to me. It takes away the pain, it gives you the strength to bring your affairs in order, it soothes your mind, and it drives off the natural fear of what is to come – a blessing, that is its name in the old language – blessing. Made of belladonna, opium, and some other things."

"Including magic?"

Gaius returned his gaze steadily. "Perhaps."

"It hastens death" Arthur accused him.

"It also makes death less frightening where it can no longer be fought. Where is the harm in that?"

A fight of stares, brief – and Arthur lost it. "I don't know" he murmured. He kicked the dust with the top of his boot, like he'd done as a child when he found the adult world confusing. "You know what he said to me?"

"Every word" Gaius confirmed.

"He told you or….."

"He dictated it to me. That was why he was asleep when you came. It exhausted him."

"You _wrote_ it down?" Arthur said, aghast.

"I felt it was my duty" Gaius said. "To you, to Merlin, to Morgyan – perhaps to truth itself. I…. you might say, I owed the choice to you."

"What choice? Where the hell do I have any choice in this?" It was a cry from Arthur's heart, it sounded like one, and it cut through the old man's soul like a blade.

"Antek will not live through the night, Sire. And before he breathes his last, he will not wake up to talk to anyone. As I said before, the drug's gift is painlessness and fearlessness in one's last hours." Gaius spoke with great emphasis, but very low. To any onlooker, they were discussing the upcoming demise of a man dear to Arthur's heart, nothing else.

"What is that to me?" Arthur said, still in the grip of pain and awe, he could not see any further than Antek's suffering, and the load of guilt it loaded him with.

"You and I, Sire, nobody else knows. Nobody else _has_ to know, unless you will it so. You can either sign and seal the document; in good leisure, when you're calm and yourself again, or you don't, and the paper will follow Antek to the next world. And he won't come back, Arthur, to haunt you, I know how to make sure of that, and I will do it!"

"What are you talking about?"

"See, Arthur" Gaius explained patiently "Uther will not give up what he's got willingly. But, if you sign and seal the document, even Uther will be extremely hard put to ignore a pledge his son and heir, Camelot's future King, has made to a man on his deathbed. To a man who's saved his life and that of his son, Prince Thomas Pendragon of Camelot. Besides, you would vow to help a woman who's alone in the world, who's lost her love, her brother, her whole family – if Morgyan is not a damsel in distress, who is? There's the knight's code, the rules of chivalry, of honour, of bravery – and what not. You name it, your father invented it. He's a great King, your father, most of the time. And smart."

"He invented these niceties to serve his purpose!"

"Sure" Gaius said, unruffled. "There's politics for you. But when he made the rules, he also bound himself to them. How often did Uther tell you that a King's reputation makes for two thirds of his strength, and as for the last third ….."

"….you need an army worth their keep" Arthur completed the familiar quote.

"Exactly" Gaius said. "I, for my part, would add you need the peasants to feed your army, you need the craftsmen for weapons and armour, you need the merchants to pay for them, you need …. but why should I carry leather to the cattle farmers, you know all that, very well."

"Because you and Geoffrey taught me" Arthur said wryly.

"Whatever. But do not count out Uther so lightly. Your father taught you many things, Sire, some of them good." Gaius reprimanded him. "As he taught me the art of politics. Your promises to Antek – if you should choose to ignore them, for the sake of your own family and the peace of the realm, you can easily do so."

"What the…." Arthur was gobsmacked by the sudden change in Gaius' attitude. "Are you, _you_ of all people, telling me to ignore a dying man's last wishes?"

"Antek had no right to ask this of you, not in the state you're in. But he had no time to wait until you're in your right mind, either. I'm giving you this time, Arthur, no more, no less. It's what Antek would have wanted, had the choice been his, I'm sure of it. He is – was – your friend."

"Are you saying he loved me? As a friend?"

"He did" Gaius repeated. "He just loved Blackrock more – and Llanfair."

"As I love Camelot" Arthur said.

"As you" Gaius confirmed "love Camelot."

"What should I do?" Arthur said.

"Wait" Gaius said. "Until you know yourself. Until you know where you stand with Merlin. With Uther. With Guinivere. Make yourself a gift – the gift of some days, to think it over. Pay homage to Antek and his life, at his burial. Give Morgyan a day or two to get over the worst of the pain. Then make your choice."

"Some kind of a choice." Arthur muttered. "Between hell and damnation."

"You know" Gaius said "perhaps both theories are valid. Perhaps fate just puts the choices before you, without ever asking your leave. But it is still _you_ who has to make the choice."

"If this is the freedom of choice that enables one to fulfil one's potential, I could well do with fate alone" Arthur said, miserably. "At least it would not be my fault."

"Your Highness's potential has been, I'm very much afraid, predetermined the day you were born. Fate has put you in a position where you have to make the tough decisions. If you do not want that, forfeit the Crown!"

"Now there's a thought" Arthur said defiantly.

"That is another decision to make. And perhaps for another day." Gaius said. "And again, it is one neither I nor Merlin can help you with. So you better don't tell him anything. I won't."

Arthur's head snapped up. "He's awake? Merlin's well?"

"Like a fish in the water" Gaius smiled. "Has been so for hours; doubtlessly his impatience to see you is tearing him apart. I just knew that your conversation with Antek could not wait."

"Gaius, you're a heaven sent genius" Arthur hugged the old man until the bones creaked before he ran off, to where he knew his friend to be.

"I guess I am" Gaius muttered to himself as he stared after his Prince. "Where would you Pendragons be without me, I wonder?"

The old healer shook his head, and walked back into the shelter.

"Is it time already?" Antek asked.

"I would advise it" was Gaius' gentle reply.

Antek nodded lightly, the fleshless skull with the brittle skin was a ghastly sight, even for the seasoned physician. The hands that took the half-filled cup from Gaius were like bird claws. "Did you speak to Arthur?" Antek asked.

"As promised" Gaius retorted.

"Will he do it, what do you think? Keep the word he gave me?"

"I've made sure that Merlin will not hear of it too soon" Gaius said. "He won't talk the Prince out of it. I dare say Arthur is a man of his word, and he will be true to his promises to you. You've done all you could. You would've done Merco proud, My Lord, very proud."

"Merco was your friend too, Gaius, wasn't he."

"Once" the old healer said. "In another life. When we studied together. I owed him much and I never repaid him. Not for what he did for me. And not for what he did for Arthur."

"You repaid him today" Antek said. "Especially with that." He raised the cup in a kind of salute, and then he emptied it with one gulp.

Gaius stayed with him until he stopped breathing, painless, in his sleep. It was the second half of the potion's way to kill. Quickly and quietly.

The healer inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and completed the spell.

Antek's body was covered in a glowing, golden light, and when the light faded, the old physician looked at his work.

The withered old wretch was gone. In his place was the body of a young man; his black hair and honey skin looked vibrantly alive, as if he was just sleeping. No trace of the ordeal inside the demons' world was left.

Gaius folded the limp hands on the chest and closed the green eyes. "Good night, my boy. You did your best. No one can ask for more."

Then the healer went out and called one of the guards. "Tell the Princess Morgyan that Antek of Llanfair is dead!"


	40. A case of bad handling

**40 A case of bad handling**

"So, he's going to die?" Merlin said, fingering the cushion, looking this way and that, looking, in fact, at anything but at the aggravated Prince in front of him.

"Yes" Arthur retorted, roughly. He did not trust his voice when it came to Antek.

Merlin shrugged, fidgeted, shrugged again. "Well, good riddance" he finally snarled, his voice cold and hard.

The brutal injustice and cruelty of that remark left Arthur winded, like a hard kick in the stomach.

Elegantly, Merlin rose to his feet and mumbled something about being hungry and all, face turned towards the tent's exit.

The magician had almost made it out, when Arthur's voice reached him. "If you leave this tent now, I swear I'll banish you from Camelot for life!"

Merlin stopped in mid-stride. He swallowed, hard, but he did not speak. Nor did he turn back.

He flinched when he heard the rash, angry steps in his back, and yet Arthur had to grab him by the shoulders to turn him by force. "Merlin, I'll ask you just this once: Did you finish Antek off? Did you kill him?"

"Perhaps Your Highness would have preferred your own death. Or your son's?" the wizard did not add "_or mine_?" but Arthur heard it nevertheless. It was written about his court sorcerer's face. As was the utter heartlessness and cruelty of the question. Arthur let go of the other, he could no longer bear the touch. He would have liked to leave and never see the magician again, and it cost him a lot of self-control to ask again, as calmly as he could: "What happened back there, Merlin? Tell me!"

"You were there…."

"Damn it, magician, answer my question!"

"You would not understand…"

"Merlin, you're going to explain it to me as often and as long as it takes, once, twice or a hundred times, until I _do_ understand, _did I make myself clear?_" Arthur was virtually roaring now.

"I needed a cover. When Agneta's blade and Khilgarrah's enchantment dragged you, and Thomas and Antek inside the Rashnijaan, I was dragged along, as Khilgarrah had hoped I would be. The demons would have drained me of my magic, I gave Antek my looks so that they went after him long enough for me to take your magic blade and finish Anwar off, the old devil. Now are you content?" Merlin had cried it all out in one, rapid sentence, on one note, as if it was the last thing he'd ever say. He was shaking from head to toe.

"So you _did_ kill Antek, just like that!" Arthur raged just as violently.

"I needed a distraction, and he was the only one there!"

"Did you ask his leave or did you just decide he should be sacrificed?"

"Where's the difference?"

"Did you play God, Merlin Emrys? Did you just choose, like Nimue did when it was my mother's life or mine? Choose whose survival would best serve your purpose?"

"I would always choose you! But it had _nothing_ to do with purpose!"

"You were jealous of Antek, from the start!"

"Jealous of that prick? That would be the day!"

"You murdered him, to get me out!"

"Yes, damn it, and I would do it again!" Merlin's voice snapped. He wasn't used to yelling, especially not at Arthur, and they had both been yelling loud enough to shake the trees.

Outside, everyone froze. Leon and Mirella, who had been on their way to Merlin's tent together with Agneta and Marwon, suddenly remembered that they had urgent business elsewhere. Khilgarrah, in the forest nearby, laid his head on his paws. Uther, not too far away, thought it high time to look for Gaius.

Gwen, with Thomas in her arms, suddenly awoke from her maternal bliss and for the first time it dawned on her that, even with her son back, unharmed and laughing, she was not in for a complete, easy happy-ending.

Only Morgaine and her brother did not hear anything of the roar whilst sitting at Antek's side. The three from Cendred's kingdom had neither eyes nor ears for their surroundings. Morgyan touched Antek's hand, shuddered, and shrank back into herself. It was already cold.

Inside the tent, Arthur tried one last time to find out a truth that was enormously important to him. If he'd be relieved to hear that Merlin had killed Antek in cold blood, or if he'd rather hear that Antek had given up his life freely for his friend's, the Prince could not say, just that, at any cost, he _had_ to know. "Merlin, tell me the truth! Did you or did you not ask Antek's permission before you used him as a cover?"

The warlock looked up, his eyes shining. "What does it matter now?"

"Did you? Answer me!"

"Well then, I did. And it wasn't even my idea. There." It was clear from Merlin's voice and face that he did not expect the Prince to believe him. Which was, quite obviously, one of the reasons why he had not said it in the first place.

Arthur sighed despairingly. Merlin the fool, as foolish today as on the day he first came to Camelot. "Then whose idea was it?" the Prince asked, more quietly now.

"A… A… Arenboarth's" Merlin stammered, gobsmacked by the sudden change of Arthur's mood. "I mean….. I don't know really, but I guess Khilgarrah would know Arenboarth's little secret, so perhaps he relied on the Lord Druid's spectre finding me and … helping me in some way, which he did, and together he and Antek shielded me until I could…." Merlin's voice trailed off.

Arthur shook his head. "Merlin, I'm not Gaius. I do not understand a word you're saying."

"I said you wouldn't."

"And I said you're going to explain it to me until I do! Damn your eyes!" Arthur's new found calm vaporized. He was blocking the tent's exit now, not that that was really an obstacle for a warlock, and for the briefest moment Arthur waited for a magic lightning to struck him down or something like that.

Instead, Merlin sighed too, only more irritated than unnerved, and sat down. "All right" he said, with offending patience. "Let's start all over again. We were all dragged into the demons' world. I made contact with Arenboarth's ….. spiritual residue or whatever you might wish to call it, or rather, he contacted me. He warned me off, tried to dissuade me from interfering, as the demons would take my magic and thereby kill me. They tried before. There was Antek, then, and I…"

"Whoa, wait, slow down" Arthur interjected. "Why didn't I see or hear any of this?"

"You're not a magician, clotpole" Merlin snapped. "The Demons' world looks different to me than it looks to you. Besides, Anwar had singled you out already, and his spectre was powerful. And there was Thomas of course. More than enough to distract you. And, luckily, Anwar, who focussed on you and his little plan to save his arse. Now where was I?"

"Sometimes you sound like Gaius" Arthur muttered under his breath, so that Merlin didn't catch that. Aloud, the Prince said: "You mentioned Antek."

"Oh yes. Naturally, Antek could not see Arenboarth…."

"Naturally" Arthur confirmed sarcastically.

"…. but when I told him that I…. _we_ needed a distraction for the Demons so that I could come close enough to kill Anwar before the Demons killed me…., he asked me if I could not disguise him in any way. And the most effective disguise I could think of…"

"Was your own face and shape" Arthur completed the sentence. He had to sit down, too. "And Antek agreed?"

"Yes" said Merlin reluctantly.

"Knowing the risk?"

Merlin shrugged again, and Arthur wished he'd stop doing that. It looked so casual, so uncaring. "I doubt that he really understood all the implications, being magic-blind himself, but I explained as best I could." The magician fidgeted again. "I swear I did. Sorry if I could not reveal an age-old science to him during thirty seconds." Merlin looked not the least bit remorseful. "I sneaked up on Anwar when he focussed on what he thought was me, and stabbed him with the blade. He died, the dragon's and Agneta's enchantments pulled us back into the real world. End of story."

Arthur considered that for a moment. "Arenboarth…" he then said. "Do you think…"

"He's found his peace? Yes. Yes, I'm sure of it." Merlin wanted to stop, let it sink in, but the words were on his lips and out before he could hinder them. "They're all at peace now, Arthur. Arenboarth, Antek…. let them rest, for the Gods sake."

Arthur seemed not to hear him. "So it was as I thought" he said flatly. "Antek died for me and I owe him. My life and the life of my son."

"Take it easy" Merlin said. "If he had not done it willingly, I would have forced him. See? Didn't matter. I went in there to get you and Thomas out. I'm a Pendragon, and as such I'm much happier without a single Llanfair in this world, thank you very much. You owe _me_, and nobody else."

"You're right" Arthur said, still in the same dreamlike manner.

"I am?" Merlin asked back, disbelievingly.

"I'm not a magician, so I do not understand the world you live in, not really. But you're a peasant by birth, you do not understand what such an obligation means to me, in my world. What I owe to Antek…."

"What about some gratitude to me?" Merlin said flippantly.

"Oh, for the Great Mother's sake, shut up" Arthur yelled, and a second later, he was gone.

Merlin considered following him, but for once he could not muster the courage.

He had to admit, this hadn't gone very well.

"So" Gaius said on entering, with his arms folded in front of his chest and a deep frown. "You gave our Prince some consolation on the death of his friend?"

"Oh, what do you know!" Merlin shouted back, on the brink of wrathful tears.

"Nothing, of course" Gaius retorted "I'm stupid enough to assume that you're still jealous of a dead man. Now, that surely is a sign of wisdom very becoming in so wise and superior a sorcerer as you, but….."

"You know what?" Merlin yelled "I'm done here. With you, with Camelot, with everything. I'm going away, for good. Then you'll all feel much better." He stomped towards the outside, and escape.

"Merlin" Gaius said patiently.

A huff, a snort, and stomping feet.

"_Mer_lin!"

The warlock stood still. "_What_?" he growled.

"How often, what do you guess, did I think about leaving Uther?"

Merlin now drilled his foot into the ground with a deep scowl of his own. "Come to think of it - why didn't you?" he snapped.

"For the same reason for which you will never leave Arthur. Because he needs you."

"Like a pain in the arse." Merlin was now kicking the ground.

"Arthur came to you for an answer, didn't he?"

"Only to ask me if I murdered his precious Antek."

"And if you had said yes, you'd done Arthur a hell of a favour."

Merlin turned round, eyes wide. "What?"

"Alas, a favour for which he'd never thanked you" Gaius sighed. "So it is much better that you did what you did."

Merlin's face was blank. "Gaius, you've lost me."

Gaius grinned, patted Merlin's head, and went away. "I think not, my boy" he said, chuckling. "I think not."

Merlin hesitated, but finally he could not help himself: "Gaius, I didn't do too badly, inside the Demons' world, did I?"

The healer turned, came back, and hugged the younger man, fiercely, so that it almost hurt. "You did well, Merlin" he said. "And the Gods know, you did me proud, my boy. Very, very proud!"

"Well, that's something" Merlin grumbled, and he hugged the old man back.


	41. The Aftermath of Glory

**41 The aftermath of glory**

Merlin faced the great pyre with an outside, hard as flint stone and an inside, soft as jellyfish. The Druids had erected the pyre in the middle of the clearing and it had been them who brought Antek's body to rest on its top in all the splendour and grandness of a royal knight, weapons and all. No coat of arms or crests were visible, but the red velvet with the black and golden brocade spoke volumes from where this splendour had come.

King Uther would find some of his crates and coffers much depleted as soon as he came round to having a look at them.

Must have been Arthur's orders, then.

In fact, the clothes and blades were so utterly familiar that Merlin, at first sight, violently winced, thinking for one wild, mad second that it was Arthur who lay there, dead.

When the Prince suddenly joined him, Merlin jumped with shock, like a startled bunny.

Arthur glowered at him. "You're all right?" and it wasn't a friendly question.

Merlin gritted his teeth and shook his head. "Your father will have your head for that" he hissed, nodding at Antek's still body in his fineries.

"No" Arthur retorted harshly. "At least not for the clothes."

Merlin gave him a peculiar look. What the …. but he forgot about Antek's vainglory appearance when the slow, menacing sound of drums wandered over the clearing.

From the edge of the forest came Agneta, once more dressed in the ancient gowns of a High Priestess of the Old Religion. In her hands, raised up above her head, a leather clad book.

Just that.

A book.

The magician marvelled at the fact that such an insignificant thing could bring about so much suffering and evil.

At his side, Arthur fidgeted nervously and murmured to himself.

"What?" Merlin asked unwillingly.

"Are we doing the right thing?" Arthur said.

"He fought for possession of its power, he died to defeat this power, what more befitting place for the Rashnijaan than this one?" Merlin replied crisply.

Arthur fell silent.

Merlin's gaze followed Agneta to the pyre. There, right in front of it, stood another female figure, her back straight, her chin raised, but even so she looked forlorn and fragile. Merlin looked away. Morgaine's grief was not something he could easily cope with.

Agneta lowered her hands, turned and laid the book into Morgyan's hands. Slowly, feigning indifference, the former Princess climbed the three stairs and laid the book on Antek of Llanfair's chest and folded hands. Then she walked away as if nothing had happened, her face a calm, composed mask of restraint.

"Your turn, I believe" Arthur snapped, looking vaguely in the direction of where Merlin was standing.

Merlin did not answer. He walked closer to the pyre, raised his own arms, and closed his eyes. All he wanted was to call for Khilgarrah and watch the end of an endless adventure without which they'd all been much happier. And yet, he did not make a sound. Without his conscious thought, his mind wandered to where the book was. Searching for the stirring, for the abhorred and yet familiar siren song. Of riches beyond compare, of power beyond imagination, of secrets revealed and magic redefined.

But there was nothing. Silence. Calm. A void, an absence of anything. It should feel comforting and yet it did not. It felt – empty. And sad. As if any hope and any dream that humans ever harboured lay dead, too.

Merlin licked his lips and tasted salt. His cheeks were wet. Panic rose inside him, and the words of the Dragon's call fled his mind, as if he'd never known them. Why live on when all this, this unbelievable miracle of magic, was dead?

Suddenly the black void expanded into his soul, called for him, beckoned him, to leave these magic-blind, uncaring, ungrateful world, leave it all behind…

"_Don't_!" a sharp voice suddenly ordered. "_How dare you_?"

"_Why not_" Merlin retorted defiantly. The conversation in his mind was, for him, as real as the spoken word.

"_Your duty to me, to your friends, to your own self and to your singular gift – you're not the warlock born of legends to suit your whims_!"

"_Who are you to speak to me like that_?" Merlin fought back.

"_I've been the leader of the magic world before you were born, you insolent pup. I'm the Lord Druid and you will give me the peace and rest that I deserve, Merlin Emrys. And you will do it now_!"

Merlin opened his eyes, the words of the Dragons' language flooded into his mind, and he shouted them loud enough to make even Uther cover his ears. The warlock felt the powers of the enchantment rise, they formed a bond between him and the Great Dragon as they had done a hundred times before; Khilgarrah inhaled, and, his huge lungs filled with air up to their rims, the mighty beast set the pyre ablaze.

The flames roared up, the fire lit the sky, high and brilliant and strangely beautiful. The wood seemed to scream while it instantly burned to cinder.

When Khilgarrah lowered his head, nothing in this world bore witness of a book once called the Rashnijaan. Or of a creature that once had lived, and laughed, and erred and failed, as an unlucky fate had made him Antek, Count of Llanfair.

Where the pyre had been the grass was as green and unscathed as if no fire had ever touched it.

Merlin turned, urged by some strange sense of obligation, to Uther, wanting, absurdly, to report to him, that it was done and over. If anyone would greet the end of this with a pure and untainted gratitude and joy, it was the King who'd almost – and twice – lost everything he had to the Llanfair family.

However, the King's eyes were glued to the green, peaceful spot in the clearing's centre. Pendragon's face was pale, strained and faintly, ever so furtively, disgusted.

Gaius searched Merlin's gaze, and shook his head.

The warlock turned away. How easy it was nowadays to forget that Uther Pendragon's truce with magic was a fragile one.

"Is it over?" Gwen asked, searching, of all people, the hand of her father-in-law for support and protection.

"Yes" Uther answered. "The Rashnijaan is no more!"

Merlin listened to these words. Just a few syllables somehow seemed inadequate to describe the end of so prolonged a nightmare.

And yet it was true. The demons had been there, and now they were there no more.

Just like that.

Guinivere closed her eyes, and covered her face with both hands. She was trembling. "All will be well now" she said, and she repeated it. "All will be well now."

It occurred to Merlin that somehow she wasn't speaking of the Rashnijaan at all, but of her marriage, but from where this peculiar thought might come, he had no idea. Briefly he thought of the brave, valiant young woman who'd set out to save her Prince's life. Somehow, sometime since Arthur's return from Blackrock, marriage and motherhood had changed her.

Perhaps fate just did that to people who rode into the sunset only to see that a story teller might break off his narrative at this point, but life never does. Your heart may be wrenched, your joy and youth might be taken away, you may have survived the greatest of perils, fought the most vicious battle – there will still be another morning, and another, and another, and you will get up, brush your teeth, comb your hair and think that some place on the way you've lost the knowledge of how and why it should all make sense.

Merlin looked around, saw the gloom on each and any face, and thought how very much he felt like Guinivere.

Morgaine stood not too far away, her mad brother by her side. Her head hung low now, her pretence of bravado lost and gone. She walked away quickly, into the forest, her brother in her wake.

Arthur was pained and pale, and Merlin did not know why. Gaius was tensed and did not take his eyes from Arthur.

Marwon was staring dead ahead, so that he would have to look at no one.

Agneta would see her husband today for the very last time.

Mirella did not yet know if she and Leon would ever go back to Camelot together.

And so many faces just weren't there. Merco. Or Cendred's son.

Or Antek, the 15th Count of Llanfair.

If this was how final triumph felt, Merlin could shit on it in future.

In the midst of all the gloom and sorrow, Uther took a deep breath. "My dear friends…." he began, patting his daughter-in-law's hand with the tenderness of an angry bear getting ready to have it for breakfast, and Merlin almost collapsed in despair.

The last thing, the very, VERY last thing he could survive now with his sanity intact was one of Uther's grand and long-drawn speeches. No, please Gods, please, Great Mother, would someone STOP the man!

"Father…." Arthur began, but he had no chance to say more as all of a sudden a storm wrecked the place to shambles.

Amidst the angry fury of the wind, the Great Dragon had unfolded his wings, and risen to full height. "Beware, King Uther" the huge beast growled loud enough to almost throw anyone to their knees with terror. "You're indebted to me once more. The day will come where I will call in every debt you owe me. Do never break the oaths you gave the magic world. They are all that stands between you and your utter destruction!" The Dragon rose into the air, gave Uther a last threatening stare and roar, and was off.

May the Great Mother bless him.

Not even Merlin wasted a single thought on the fact that, by protocol, Khilgarrah should have waited until his Dragonlord dismissed him. He was much too grateful for Khilgarrah's aid at the very last moment. They all stood in awe, with their legs being wobbly, until the Great Dragon had vanished from their sight.

All but one, that was.

Marwon grinned. "Well, trust a dragon to have a sense of good old melodrama" he loudly said. "They always know a good exit when it hits them into their ugly faces."

"Uhm….. eh…. yes, or…" Uther had trouble regaining his regal, superior attitude. He felt that the tension was broken, that they all could breathe normally again and yet he had the disturbing idea that things had once again spiralled out of his control.

A thing that, as of late, had happened to him far too frequently for his taste. In any case, more often than a King as powerful and eminent as himself could allow. He cleared his throat, looked around him quickly and hit the man closest to him on the shoulder until it almost broke. The unfortunate shoulder of course, not the royal hand.

As it happened, the shoulder was Merlin's and he whimpered involuntarily under the unsuspected, bone-crushing onslaught.

"Take a heart, young warlock" Marwon bellowed merrily, raised his own calloused hand, and let it fall on Merlin's other shoulder until the warlock toppled over and almost fell to his knees with a sharp yelp that sounded like an indignant maiden's last shriek before she was a maiden no more. Or so Marwon commented.

Uther was the first to laugh. That is, he discreetly and most royally chuckled. That was how it began. And it spread. Gwen was the first to follow, then Gaius, then Leon, Mirella and the other Druids, finally even Arthur and the ever-sombre Agneta laughed and laughed and could not stop, until they felt as if their lungs would burst and their heads would come off, loud enough and hard enough for all to not notice that Morgyan had left them.

All the fear, the suffering and the dread went after the Book of Evil in one unbelievable, liberating burst of laughter and sheer glee. Finally, in the very end, even a blushed and highly embarrassed Merlin joined in.

Yes, it was over.

They had survived.

All shadows gone, all darkness banished; the sun was warm and it felt wonderful.

As soon as he could speak again, Uther, on the spur of the moment, invited each and anyone to a victory party in his quarters – he actually called the makeshift wooden shed his "quarters" – and somehow, without thinking, everyone present fell into step behind Uther Pendragon as if it was their natural place to be, Druids, knights, the remaining soldiers from Uther's escort.

Quite enthused by what he thought a tremendous success of his unfailing personal charm and charisma, Uther marched in the lead, radiant, beaming, and grabbed Little Thomas, whom his mother had taken to the ceremony against all advise and protests, as she was no longer willing to part with him even for a second.

"See the future King of Camelot" Uther shouted, lifting the laughing child high up into the air, and for a precious second, they were all Pendragons, all from Camelot, and today's victory was finally shining in its glory.

Gwen moved to retake her little son, but Arthur stopped her by taking her wrist. "Leave him alone" he muttered. "He's been waiting for this moment all my life."

She gave her husband an uncomprehending look, but she did as he said. Arthur's happiness had been short lived, and she vaguely felt that she should not anger him now.

Merlin flinched when Gaius laid his arm around Prince Arthur's shoulder and squeezed lovingly. Only then Merlin remembered Arthur's idea that Uther might take his child away from him.

Had that really been only a while ago? The family quarrel, the move away from Camelot, to Antek's house, the long, stupid, useless struggle that ensued from that – for what?

What if all the old feuds would just start all over again, in spite of everything that had happened?

The only man completely unaware of the waves of emotion that sprang up all around him was, as usual, the King of Camelot himself. Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, he admired his splendid, merry grandson, rocked the child to and fro – gently, as he thought, precariously in any other eyes – and turned in the entrance to his "quarters" – and stopped in his first word.

Ahem.

All his life there had been someone else to care about the logistics of his parties, and now he was in the woods about how to proceed on his own.

But he would not have been Uther Pendragon if he had not found a perfect solution in the blink of an eye. "Gaius" he ordered grandly "you and that useless boy of yours can put all this senseless magic to good use for once and bring us some food and wine. We're going to celebrate."

"Äh.. My Lord…" Gaius began awkwardly. "That is not … you never quite understood the nature of these things….."

"I do not want to understand them, I merely want to eat and drink them" Uther stated very grandly, and again he laughed himself almost to pieces about his own joke.

"Leave it to us, Gaius" Mirella said, and after an astonishingly short time, trays and plates and cushions, food and wine appeared from this corner or that saddle bag or that hidden treasure among the Druids, and sometimes, as Merlin suspected, really from some unknown enchantment, and in the end a formidable, if somewhat farraginous, picnic was ready right in front of Uther's shed. Uther and Arthur sat side by side, and whoever chose not to look too closely could imagine that indeed all was well with the world.

"Well done, sister" Marwon said when they sat down, side by side, together with Leon and Gaius. "You're a worthy daughter of the Lord Druid" and suddenly the scales fell from Merlin's eyes. "It was you" he exclaimed. "Out there, before Khilgarrah destroyed the Rashnijaan. You saved me from the Demons' last trap, not your father."

"My father is dead and may the Great Mother rest his soul" Marwon said. "He loved you and he expected great things from you. What neither he nor Khilgarrah would ever want, is for you to be taken by the Demons into their grave. I swore to guard you with my life." He once more crashed his fist on Merlin's shoulder and grinned broadly. "I may not be a great magician, but as an imitator of my father's voice, there's not my equal in this world."

It was in that moment that Agneta came near them, with a few others, and her own son on her lap.

"Excuse me" Marwon said lightly. "I think my merry face is wanted elsewhere."

"Is there no hope for you and your wife?" Merlin asked in a hapless attempt to keep some of the happy mood with him.

"No" Marwon retorted, looking at his hand. "She's not mine; she and my son belong to our people. I belong to myself, therefore I cannot stay."

He left, and like one person, Leon and Mirella followed him.

"We're going to have a resident Druid in Camelot Castle" Gaius commented drily. "Who would have thought it possible."

"Who else will still be in residence in Camelot this day next year?" Merlin asked gloomily.

"We'll have to wait and see, won't we" Gaius answered dismissively, only to exclaim with an extremely artful falsetto "oh my Gods, a roasted chicken" and for the next few hours he spoke animatedly, prolonged and with a repetitiveness that could well bore a man to tears, about nothing but wine and food, insensitive to all of Merlin's attempts to speak of anything else.

Over dinner Uther was all joviality and kindness. He even mentioned to Arthur that Morgyan might still make a suitable marriage with one of the ancient but not very important nobles of Camelot. Naturally, nobody would wish to take in her mad brother Cendred, but, who cared. If needs be, a permanent nurse and carer could be paid at Camelot's expense. Or whatever.

Arthur looked at his father as if he'd just seen a ghost. Or a monster of a sort. But then he saw Uther's hand holding that of Guinivere, and his little grandson in his lap, and Arthur let it go, uncommented.

Indeed, nobody made any comments on so benevolent a plan for other people's lives, but Uther did not care for a second opinion anyway. It was his evening, after all. A Kingdom conquered, the Llanfair threat to Camelot and the Pendragons gone forever, the border country safe and sound – Merlin saw the King's face and wondered where on this list of victories and achievements the safe return of his son, grandchild and daughter-in-law might rank. Close to the top or further down?

Arthur was rather quiet, the Druids too, except for Marwon, who time and again thanked Uther and Arthur for their gracious invitation to stay in Camelot, with Leon and Mirella, as long as he pleased.

Agneta was pale and withdrawn. Marwon avoided looking at her and at their child all evening.

Repeatedly Gwen tried to talk to Arthur, but he always pulled away.

Merlin watched it all and thought again that his dreams of what a proper victory party should look like had been much exaggerated.

However, finally they were all sent to their respective beds by royal command. Only Arthur stayed behind and asked his father for a moment of his time, which Uther most graciously granted.

Merlin smiled to himself and hoped against all odds that perhaps the two dragons would finally make amends to each other.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it had been a victory party after all.


End file.
